


Now, What Should We Do Next?

by HigherMagic



Series: Challenges of the Month [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fisting, Asphyxiation, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Choking, Cock Warming, Collars, Creampie, Crying, Cutting, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Doctor/Patient, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom Will Graham, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Facial Shaving, Facials, Fisting, Flogging, Frottage, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Impact Play, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, Knifeplay, M/M, Masks, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Objectification, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Shaving, Spanking, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Sub Will Graham, Switching, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Toys, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 51,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Kinktober 2018.





	1. Collars

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up 9 days late to a challenge I've never done before*   
> WHAT IS UP MY DUDES AND DUDETTES AND EVERYTHING BETWEEN.   
> As if I didn't have enough on my plate, lmao. Each chapter title will be the kink involved. Tags added as appropriate.  
> The list I went with came from Reddit but apparently has been removed, sadface. I may pick and choose but since I'm starting late I don't think it's going to matter too much.  
> Enjoy!

Will shakes. His breath is coming fast, pinched out, bordering on hyperventilation. He can't calm it, can't control it – thinks past nothing but the wide, warm tension surrounding his neck. On the edge of panic, he shakes, he trembles.

He flinches, when a warm touch comes to his face. He turns his head, wants to bite, to snap his jaws together and draw blood. The hand is steady, though, callused at the fingers and soft in the palms, and flattens over his ear, over the entirety of the side of his face. So warm, so wide. The other side of Will's face is tucked to a thigh, strong, muscle tense and utterly still.

"Shh." That voice – he knows that voice. He searches for it, seeks it, drags his cheek against fabric soft as silk, clings with dry lips and chapped corners of his mouth. Desires, more than life, to breathe.

The fingers curl, touch the innards of his jaw, palm flat to his ear so he hears water and waves. The rush of blood – he thinks of Moses, red seas parting, red lips parting.

Turns his head, finds flesh, bites.

The muscle goes tense between his teeth, but the voice huffs in something like delight. Hands slide – two, each a mirror of the other, broad and wide-fingered and gentle as sin – into his hair, cupping his nape. Fingers pull, wrap around the heavy D-ring at the back of his neck, tug sharply so Will gasps, loosens his jaw, raises his eyes.

His gaze finds his master's, sees Hannibal dark and smiling, and Will trembles for him, flattens his touch with supplication on Hannibal's ankles, leans against the weight of the leather collar on the front of his neck – wishes it were Hannibal's touch. Leather and plastic are nothing compared to him.

Hannibal, God-like, sits on his throne and gazes upon his design, and Will hopes he finds it good. His lashes flutter, lower, he swallows and trembles and tries to breathe and Hannibal watches – silent, so silent, always, like the innards of a tomb. Will can't even hear him breathe, and in comparison, Will feels tragically loud. Devastatingly unrefined.

Hannibal tugs on his collar again, breaking him from thoughts too dark, too heavy. Will sucks in a breath, bares his teeth in a brief show of defiance – defiance that makes Hannibal's eyes brighten, mirth and challenge mixed like a single drop of blood in a glass of whiskey. _I dare you, darling_.

But Will does not dare. He settles, lets his jaw slacken, lips soften. Hannibal tilts his head, slides one hand along the edge of Will's collar, nails digging to muscles made sensitive from sweat under foreign substance. He has lost count of the hours spent in this collar, floating between space and time with nothing but Hannibal to cement him – Hannibal, with whiskey eyes and a venomous mouth, and Hannibal leans down, leans over, covers him like a shadow, and kisses Will's forehead.

Will whimpers, sags and stutters to his master's knees. His ankles ache, awakened by Hannibal's lips on his clammy skin. His knees protest hours on hard floor, his shoulders are weak and feel as though dust, held together solely by Hannibal's will.

He breathes, and in that breath, elation comes. Hannibal's fingers go slack, releasing ring, releasing hair, and Will clenches fingers in his master's clothes, slides them boldly up to cover the outside of his knees, then his thighs. His thumb smooths along where he bit, damp from his aching teeth. He lifts his head, lifts his heart to Hannibal's throne, and Hannibal smiles.

Will's chest is hot, burning from collar to hairline, from collar to hips, lit from his spine, shaking, too shaken. When Hannibal kisses him again, this time a gentle brush of his soft lips to the bridge of Will's nose, he moans, cries out without words, and collapses when Hannibal cups his nape and drags Will's mouth to his own.

In this, Will finally feels quiet. They move together like entwined snakes, too tightly-pressed for one to begin, one to end – it is not for the perception of outsiders, and there are no borders to cross and conquer. Hannibal tugs on Will's nape, the D-ring, the strands of his sweaty hair, other hand dug around Will, a furrow for him to tend, an open wound that seeks to be filled.

Will clutches at him, finds air and water in Hannibal's mouth. Parts his lips, slack and eager, and drinks of his master. Clings, nails dug into the thickness of Hannibal's coat, the thickness of his arms. He is covered, layered as armor and steel, burns Will's bare flesh like hot metal and frostbite.

Will ruts, arches, his breath turning tight and high and lost as Hannibal sinks nails into Will's back, tugs him so the kiss breaks and Will lifts his eyes, and the ceiling is so dark, the warmth of Hannibal like gravity, pulling him, _pulling_ him.

He knows what Hannibal is waiting for – this is how they play. But he can't, yet. Can't make himself lax, can't melt the iron in his spine nor calm the riotous roar in his chest. It can be collared, caged, but never controlled.

"Will," Hannibal breathes, and Will trembles for him, heavy in his lap, heavy as time and memory. He sinks to Hannibal, ruts and writhes and Hannibal's teeth find the collar around his neck, bite down and that – _that_ -.

He settles, abruptly, finds air and lets it go deliberately. His nose is at Hannibal's temple and he smells like fine sweat, amber, cloying. Will's tongue curls into the very edge of his hairline, marks the subtle curve of his skull when forehead becomes soft, vulnerable.

Hannibal shivers, biting down, and twists his head so his teeth pull the collar tight – make it pinch, make it ache. Will moans, blinks up, bears down and clutches, wraps his hands and his arms and his thighs around Hannibal and fucks forward, cockhead slipping between the folds of Hannibal's suit jacket, butting against belt buckle and waistcoat.

He snarls, feels how Hannibal's hand tightens on his back, urging him closer. Leans down, whispers "Dirty boy", in his ear, and grunts, hand dropping, wrapping tight on himself, and comes onto Hannibal's fine clothes. Sinks, rutting against soft fabric, buttery leather, finds Hannibal's erection and presses down with the heel of his hand until Hannibal shifts, and releases his neck with an uncomfortable, disapproving noise.

Will laughs, edges teeth on Hannibal's ear, bites down very gently. "I like making a mess of you," he whispers, noting with pleasure half-echoed that Hannibal has his head tilted, allowing Will room to bite and nuzzle. Will's control does not rely on the implicit – their reversed state of dressed and undressed does not mean he loses command. Rather, it is wilder this way; Will is savage, merciless, and moves through Hannibal like he invades consciousness and home – without care for refinement, for it neither touches nor affects him.

But the loss of that refinement, well, that affects him very deeply.

He slides back on Hannibal's knees, sinks to his own and puts one of Hannibal's hands in his hair. Hannibal's eyes are glass-dark, shining like they contain smoke, contain sin. Will runs his fingers through the mess he smeared over Hannibal's clothes, grins off-kilter and animal, parts button from hole, teeth of the zipper, and coaxes Hannibal's cock out from his clothes.

He's hard, so very hard, a deep blushing red that matches the flush on his cheeks. Always is, when Will kneels for him. His fingers curl in Will's hair, breathing harsh – now it's his turn to be loud – and he wraps his knuckles against Will's nape, circles the ring, pulls it to the front and hauls Will between his thighs.

Will smiles, parts his teeth graciously for Hannibal to slip between them. He sucks, jaw tight so that it aches, tongue thick and wet as a cushion for his teeth and a rough scrape for Hannibal to fuck against. His mouth, full, wet, parting; his throat, tender from abuse, tight with the collar, barricaded with Hannibal's flesh. He lets himself sink, lets Hannibal's hand demand and pull obedience from him.

Thighs tighten, Hannibal's breath stutters and stalls. He drags Will up by the grip on his collar, and Will, petulant, lets saliva drip and coat him. Hannibal takes himself in hand, stroking quickly, thumb swiping through the exposed slit of his cock, knuckles white, whiter. Will looks up, slides his gaze feral and fine up Hannibal's heaving body, his dirty lap, the rush of his breath in his chest and the flash of his teeth.

Will licks his lips, tilts his chin up. Shows Hannibal his collar.

Hannibal growls, twists his wrist, his other hand curling tight to Will's neck, between collar and throat, tugging and Will snarls, shakes, but doesn't move his eyes from Hannibal's as Hannibal comes, spurting thick and heavy-hot on Will's collarbone, over the thick black leather of his collar, whip-crack droplets along his jaw.

He sighs, and his fingers go slack, his eyelids fluttering and his shoulders rolling with sudden absence of tension. Will smiles, lets out a rough, growling sound, and turns, wipes his jaw on the inside of Hannibal's suit pants, turns and sinks his teeth in fabric and flesh.

Hannibal leans forward, unclasps the collar, thumbing the red marks undoubtedly left behind. Will shivers, swallows, throat abused and lips bruised and red. Hannibal wraps the collar around his knuckles, cups Will's neck and Will's clammy skin turns wet, slick with Hannibal's seed, as Hannibal pulls him up and kisses him deeply. Will's tongue, salty with precum, curls behind Hannibal's teeth, tastes his wine, tastes him.

He pulls back, rests their foreheads, eyes meeting, shining as light on water. Slides, close, heavy, onto Hannibal's lap, stains soaked to fabric and skin. Hannibal's knuckles are still sheathed in leather, he rests with palms flat on Will's hips, cradling him, subtly arching.

Will smiles, kisses his master, cradles Hannibal's skull and kisses him again until Hannibal's fingers twitch, tighten – until his mouth curls, hungry, and the collar finds its way back to Will's neck. Will arches for it, bares each inch of skin with grace and reverence and sees it met, matched, in Hannibal's eyes.

Hannibal smiles as Will sinks to his knees, comes to rest on toes and knees and straining ankles. Will shakes. He shakes and wets his lips and lets his eyes close as Hannibal kisses his forehead. Bookended, his mastery, his control, and now he slides fever-wet into the darkness.

"Shh," Hannibal murmurs, luring him to the quiet, back into the place where time is thick and he shakes, he _shakes_. And he feels at the bottom of a cliff, and he tries to climb it but his nails catch and everything crumbles -. And then Hannibal is there, hands around Will's neck, collar pressing warm and slick and tight, and Will can't breathe. In breathlessness, he relaxes.

Tilts his head up, nose to Hannibal's jaw, and Hannibal is pleased. Will can feel his pleasure.

"Let's see if you can hold out a little longer this time, darling. Your record's fifteen minutes."

Fifteen minutes, but they've been here for hours, ebbing and flowing together as tides.

Will breathes out, lets the world become heavy. Lets his eyes close, neck drooping, so the tug of the D-ring at the back of the collar keeps him upright. His hands find Hannibal's knees, lay loose, his forehead to his knuckles. He blinks, once, twice, and closes his eyes again until he can feel his lashes graze his cheeks.

He settles. And waits.


	2. Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta catch uuuuuuuuuuuuup :D

Each second of the clock strikes, a soft tick, tap, _tock_ that is starting to feel like a whip crack behind Will's eyes. With it, his shoulders brace and bend, roll back, and he takes in a deep breath, swallows, works his jaw from one side, to the other, and lets his air out in something slow and very, very deliberate.

His weight shifts, thighs pressing tight in an attempt to relieve the ache, but it does nothing except push his cock against the too-tight stretch of his jeans. He grits his teeth, fingers curling in the sheets on either side of his thighs, works his head to one side and tries to find distraction in the rough brush of polyester over his cheek.

In response, the buzzing grows more intense, at a higher pitch. Will's cry swallows the next second-tick of the clock and he arches, heels to the mattress, shoulders up, ruts his erection against the inside of his clothes and trembles with it.

He aches, the toy inside him too slim. His body clenches for it, hungrily, he wants fingers, a tongue, a cock, _something_. His fingers twitch, curl in, dig to his thighs, his heart stammers at double time, and he breaks; lets out a rough, snarled noise against his teeth. Everything is restraint: his chest, holding his heart; his jaws, holding his cries; his clothes, too-tight, purposely too tight, so every drag is rough and teases him like hands might, like teeth might.

The buzzing grows dim, and Will whimpers, clenching his eyes tightly shut. He puts a hand in his hair, tugs, gasps when the toy starts to vibrate again, loud in his sealed room. He spreads his legs, works his hips down, ruts his ass against his sheets to get the toy angled just right, to his prostate.

Whines when, in response, it goes utterly still.

"Put your hand back."

Will hisses, sucks in a breath, but obeys, flattens it to his bed and whitens his knuckles on sheets soaked with sweat. The night air is cold, he pebbles and flinches from each rotation of the overhead fan, each brush of chill that digs its claws into his sweat-flushed skin. Moans as, in reward, the buzzing starts up again.

He opens his eyes, searching, finds the shadow in the corner. Hannibal sits, untouched and unruffled, turning the remote idly in his hand. Hannibal meets his eyes, irises storm-dark, burning with lust – restrained. Everything is restrained.

Will licks his lips, whines as the buzzing builds, the toy now pressed insistently against his prostate. He rolls his hips, flinches at the jitter-sharp pain of overstimulation, the twitch of his cock as it presses so tight against his clothes he can feel the teeth of his zipper.

He looks to Hannibal again, barely manages to speak;

"Please."

Hannibal's head tilts, his smile, faint before, widens to show teeth. Teeth on his neck, teeth on his chest, his cock – Will aches for all of it. Wants Hannibal's touch. Wants his savagery, his love. He moans again, head falling back, cries out for Hannibal and tugs on the sheets yet his heels halt their progress. They tighten, tight as his clothes, tight as the thread of Will's restraint. Still he hangs on, clawing stubbornly, and tries to breathe.

"If you want to come, darling," Hannibal murmurs, "you'll give me what I want."

Will groans, brushes his hands feather-light on the outside of his thighs before he can stop himself. His head shakes, once, and he tears his eyes away, looks to the door like he might be able to flee, like he could force his trembling legs beneath him, find relief and freedom in coltish steps.

Like Hannibal wouldn't chase him.

Hannibal stands, sensing his prey's attention, circles Will's bed and settles again, in a crouch, by Will's head. Will whines, can't tear his eyes away from the darkness in Hannibal's, from the subtle smile on his face, the way his gaze rakes down Will like he might peruse meat on a butcher's block.

Hannibal tuts, looks to the remote like a threat, and ratchets up the setting, to the very top. Will cries out, arching, hands tugging the sheets so hard he rips them, feels them give tender and wet under his nails. His body surges, trembles, and it doesn't stop, doesn't stop, doesn't -.

" _Hannibal_." A prayer, or a curse – both, and neither. Will's cock twitches, his stomach sinks in and his chest rises sharply, caught behind clothes. Maybe he could rip them off, too, maybe the cold air and the relief of bared skin will help, maybe -.

Hannibal's knees hit the edge of his mattress, sink with his weight, and Will rolls to him, curls and flattens to his belly, claws beneath his pillows and ruts, hips down, knees spread. It's a wanton, desperate display, like he's nothing but an animal aching for the pressure of his mate.

"Please," he begs, lifts his head, finds Hannibal's silhouette marred now. There are tears in his eyes, and when he closes them, they fall, sliding too hot down his cheeks. "Oh, God, _please_. Please let me come."

"Give me what I want," Hannibal demands, and in his voice is the wrath of all avenging angels. Will feels his eyes drag down his spine, feels the blister-heat of his injured chest against the bed. Ruts, even through it, until he feels scabs give, feels himself leak there, too. Hannibal had seen the bruises and injuries as Will emerged from his shower, his eyes dark with anger and outrage that Will had been hurt.

He wants a name. But Will knows that a name will bring a reckoning, will bring another meal to his table. He sobs, his hair in his hands, his hips rutting and that fucking _toy_ pressing against his prostate.

"Tell me his name, Will," Hannibal says. Coaxing, honeysuckle and the forbidden fruit of Eden. Will flinches, growls, and then Hannibal has a hand on the base of his neck, spreading wide, tightening, nails, his nails, his palm flat on Will's sweaty skin. "Tell me."

And Will breaks. Sobs his name, sobs Hannibal's name, and Hannibal lets out a soft, rewarding sound. He climbs onto the bed, straddles Will at his knees, sets the remote down and lifts Will's hips. Lifts, separates his clothes from skin, bares his tender stomach and works his hand over Will's clothes, undoes his jeans, slides his warm, dry palm under them to touch his cock.

"Good boy," he growls, leaning to Will, free hand wrapped around Will's fists, which are held as though in prayer above his head. Hannibal's hand wraps around his cock, strokes, tightly, and Will moans, head swimming. The clock is replaced with the beat of Hannibal's breath, the whir of the fan covered by his snarl as he presses his lips to Will's ear, bites gently at the arch of his throat.

"Good boy," he says again, and Will might scream. His fists tighten, turn to lace with Hannibal's fingers, pull down so Hannibal is wrapped around him, over him, and -. "Come for me."

Will sobs, weak at the neck, in the knees, yet obedient to a fault. He spills hotly over Hannibal's hand, marring the torn sheets, his bruised skin. He drives his cock into Hannibal's hand and then the buzzing in his ass, tears leaking, and trembles when Hannibal's tongue licks his cheek clean.

Hannibal reaches for the remote and turns it off, setting it down again. Will sags, heavy-hearted, the weight of another man's life on his shoulders. Yet, through it, he floats, body too strung-out, clamping down on the toy, and he trembles and moans as Hannibal coaxes out the last drop of his release, brings his dirty hand to Will's dry mouth and slides his fingers between Will's parted lips.

He lets go of Will's hands, flattens it on his sore spine, drags up with nails, with claws. The salt of his come sits heavy on his tongue, and he licks between Hannibal's fingers, bares his teeth and bites at knuckles when Hannibal presses them deep and curls them along the arch of his throat.

Hannibal huffs a laugh, and pulls his fingers out, wiping what remains on the pillows by Will's head. He kisses Will's damp hair, purring, and pulls back.

He leaves Will there, shaking finely, and Will forces his head to lift, to take in the regal, overbearing line of Hannibal's body, the flush on his cheeks, the bulge of his erection – restrained, still. Hannibal doesn't fuck him when Will is injured.

Hannibal meets his eyes, and smiles. Will closes his own, averts his gaze, swallows tightly.

"Dinner at seven?" he asks.

Hannibal hums, and pets through Will's hair, and withdraws. "I'll see you then."


	3. Deep Throating

"I want to practice."

Those words – those ruinous words – are spoken softly. Will's eyes, blister-hot and shadowed in the light of the fire, meet Hannibal's and hold, steadily. When they started this arrangement – arrangement? Ideal? Perfect mesh of understanding and attraction that began the second Hannibal entered Jack's office and hasn't left since? – he had been skittish with eye contact, yet brazen in showing his neck, his back, to Hannibal. A prey animal unafraid of the predator, but wary of challenging it.

Hannibal's mouth waters.

Will's lips, pink and dyed with dark wine, spread, show teeth, dimple him at the cheeks and go off-kilter when he smiles. He drags his thumb along his lower lip, shows Hannibal the innards of it, the white meeting pink gums, lets it go and drags his nail to the corner of his mouth instead, drawing Hannibal's attention.

He shifts his weight, swallows, tries not to let it become a snarl.

"Well, my dear Will," he purrs, and watches the words settle on Will's shoulders, making them sag, "you cannot practice from there."

Will's eyes flash, feral, wild, and he tilts his head, showing Hannibal that lovely arch to his neck, the sharp line of his strong jaw. His lips press together, treated to a slip of his tongue as he licks them, bites them. Hannibal growls, his teeth itching to bury themselves in Will.

Then, "No," Will growls, and spreads his knees. He always sits so openly, power and refinement in a way his manner of dress, his bearing, would not hint at. Such is Will's presence – dichotomies and layers that Hannibal wants to peel as he does flesh, as he does inhibition.

Will's head tilts again, and his smile grows faint, fond. He runs his hands down his thighs, nails digging in. Hannibal regards him, smiling, content to let Will gather his resolve. Will initiates when it suits him, doles out his affection and his want like treats to his dogs, and Hannibal is always eager to eat from his hand.

And the taste of Will's offer is delicious.

Will stands, shoulders rolling, and crosses the short distance to Hannibal. He puts his hands on Hannibal's wrists, forces them on either side of his thighs with a stern look, waits for Hannibal's nod – eagerly given, understood. Will's mouth twitches, his cheeks flushed, and he kneels.

The sight of Will kneeling for him never fails to stir Hannibal's arousal, and like a trained dog hearing its master's car, he straightens, at attention. His cock thickens, fills, as Will's hands slide to his thighs, forcing them to spread to his liking. He slides forward, eager and sweet, and lifts his eyes to Hannibal.

"Kiss me," he says. Purrs the word.

Hannibal leans into him. Their foreheads touch and Hannibal's hands clench, wanting to obey, but wanting to reach for Will as well. The softness of Will's hair, the strength in his jaw, the rough of his stubble and rush of his pulse are all things Hannibal's hands ache for. Yet, he resists, turns his head, their noses brushing, and parts his lips for Will.

Will growls into his mouth, his touch skimming Hannibal's erection, up, to his belt. He unbuckles it quickly, lets it hang, and kisses Hannibal with teeth and tongue. They both moan, breathless just from a touch, and when Will pulls back, his eyes are wide and very, very dark. He exhales, heavy, harsh, and licks his lips again.

Then, he bows down, and Hannibal sucks in a breath, eyes wide as Will tilts, digs his nails into Hannibal's thighs, and Hannibal feels the pressure of his nose, his teeth, as he tugs at the little corner of fabric around the button of his suit pants.

Hannibal slouches, giving him room, shuddering as Will growls, bares his teeth, catches the fabric with them and tugs, once, sharply, pulling it free from the button. He licks, hot and wide, along the exposed slip of Hannibal's underwear, curls his lips back and his tongue finds the zipper, works it between his teeth, and he pulls down in one slow motion.

His tongue parts the halves, damp and hot on Hannibal's sensitive flesh through his underwear, and Hannibal shivers, biting his lower lip as Will's fingers curl around the waistband of suit pants and underwear and pull down. Hannibal lifts his hips to help, watches as Will meets his eyes, lips parted and already turning redder, eyes low-lidded. He pulls Hannibal's clothes to his knees and below them, giving him room to spread as Will's hands find their hold on Hannibal's thighs again.

Hannibal's fingers flex, wanting so badly to curl in Will's hair, to cup his jaw, to feel the flex and tremor of his throat when he gets going. "Will," he whispers, aching, and Will flashes him another off-kilter, wild smile, the Cheshire cat grinning at him in gold-painted shadows.

"You ready?" he asks, taunts, teasing.

Hannibal breathes out, shows his teeth. Will huffs a laugh, jaws parted, tongue touching his lower teeth. He tightens his hands, head tilted, considering, and drops his eyes to Hannibal's cock, which is now fully hard, blushing red as Will's cheeks.

He leans down, slicks his tongue along the side of Hannibal's cock, cheek turning hollow, the noise of it loud and obscene. His lips, wet, part, his tongue curling at the thatch of hair around the base, and Hannibal shudders, growling, thighs tightening and earning a dig of Will's nails in return.

Will has mercy on him, though Will's mercy has always been remarkably cruel. He straightens, parts his lips and wraps them around the head of Hannibal's cock, sucking him down. His cheeks hollow, jaw tight, tongue a cushion for his lower teeth. But his upper ones scrape and Hannibal groans, head tilted back as Will takes him in. The rough of the roof of his mouth is a generous tease, the slick muscles inside tight and so hot around Hannibal.

He grunts, tensing, as Will turns his head, forces Hannibal between his teeth until his cheek bulges. Pressure there, burning like the brunt force trauma of fists hitting flesh, the threat of his teeth has Hannibal trembling, sweat gathering below his hairline, at the small of his back, behind his knees.

Will's hands flatten, drag down, cup him low on his thighs as Will sinks down again, lets Hannibal pierce his throat, push behind his gag reflex. His muscles spasm with protest and he groans, and the feeling of it sends vibrations straight up Hannibal's spine. Will lifts to his knees, shoulders under Hannibal's, forces him to slouch and spread and Will growls, pulls off, ducks his head under the harness of Hannibal's clothes and returns to him, sucking him down again.

  
"Will," Hannibal groans again, incensed by his lover's hunger, his stomach tight and heavy with arousal. Will does nothing but hum; acknowledgment, but does not deign to respond. Hannibal growls. "Please, darling, let me touch you."

Will pulls back, tongues through the slit at the head of Hannibal's cock, fixes him with fierce, brutal eyes. "No," he says, and Hannibal sucks in a breath as his mouth returns. Deeper, now, Hannibal's cockhead finding Will's spasming throat. He's so warm on the inside, fever-slick, and Hannibal digs his nails into the soft cushions of the couch. He cannot thrust, like this, but digs his heels into Will's back, trying to get him to take more.

Will bites. _Very_ gently, his tongue pulling back so his teeth scrape against the underside of Hannibal's cock, over the vein. Hannibal jerks, lets out a weak sound, and Will's teeth catch his cockhead, very delicately, forcing him to stay inside. Will's eyes flash up, under the mess of his hair which Hannibal wants so desperately to push back, and his head tilts. He shows his teeth; warning.

Hannibal nods, swallows harshly. "I'll behave," he whispers, and slackens his legs.

Will's lips twitch, wine-red now, and he smiles, blinks slowly in reward, and gentles his teeth, soothes the places they touched with his tongue. He sinks down, jaw tight, cheeks hollowed, and swallows around Hannibal. His lips turn slack, wet and loud, he sucks and lets saliva pool, dripping from his mouth, soaking Hannibal's cock.

Then, his hands tighten, and he closes his eyes. Sinks, all the way down, until his nose touches Hannibal's pubic hair. Further still, gagging but determined, until his lips form a tight seal around the base of his cock.

Hannibal chokes, moans, thighs trembling as Will claws at him, rakes upwards, fists over Hannibal's hands to force him to stay down. His hips twitch, up, seeking Will's heat, his tight throat, and Will gags again, throat spasming with force. He breathes out, through his nose, remains there a second longer, and then pulls back and all the way off.

His mouth is red, lips swollen and bruised. Hannibal's teeth show themselves, ache to find Will's. Will looks at him, wild-eyed, mussed and messy. Saliva shines on his chin, around his mouth in an obscene smear. He wipes his jaws on Hannibal's inner thigh, sucks in a breath, and rolls his shoulders.

His voice is ragged, raw, utterly abused. Hannibal's entire body rolls with sensation at hearing it, desire spiking him like rum soaked with ice. "You can touch me when you come," he says. Shows Hannibal a slit of his iris, swallowed by black. Hannibal trembles, fingers flexing beneath Will's hands. "But only with your knuckles."

Hannibal isn't sure what to call the sound he lets out, but he's sure it's plaintive, and needy. He nods, and Will smiles at him, red digging into the shadow on his cheeks. He parts his lips, licks them, and swallows Hannibal down again.

Hannibal moans, trembles, as Will's lips sink oh-so-slowly down his wet cock. Watches it disappear between Will's swollen lips, feels the tremor and clench of his muscles, the thick weight of his tongue. He grunts, flexing, sitting up a little straighter as the pleasure in his spine unwinds, sinks down.

Will pulls his hands away, pulls his lips back so just Hannibal's cockhead remains inside, tongues his slit and hollows his cheeks, and Hannibal gasps, flutters his fingers against Will's cheeks and turns them, last-minute, grazing his knuckles over Will's temples, down the red-marked line of his jaw.

"Will," he gasps, turns and cups Will's neck, feather-light with his touch. Will growls, moans, lashes fluttering as Hannibal starts to come. Hannibal presses his knuckles, nailbeds, to Will's throat, bows over him and kisses his hair as he floods Will's mouth. Will swallows, shaking, his tongue sliding thick and wet along the bottom of Hannibal's cock as Hannibal clings to him, heels digging into Will's shoulders, his breath coming hard and fast as he finishes in Will.

He sags when he's done, hissing as Will continues to suck, edging out every drop he can. Will loosens his hold, slides his hands over Hannibal's and laces their fingers together. He pulls off, gasping, red-mouthed and reflexive tears making his eyes shine.

He smiles.

"That's it," he purrs, pushing himself upright through the ring of Hannibal's legs, until he's covering him on the couch, his erection rutting over Hannibal's sensitive flesh, hands finding Hannibal's hips and keeping him still. Hannibal's fingers shake, and he moans as Will kisses him, sharing the taste of himself. Hannibal's fingers pull at Will's clothes, undo and part them, and he wraps a hand around Will's cock, finds it wet at the head, wet as his mouth, leaking into Hannibal's palm and over his wrist.

Will shivers, snarls, fucks forward and then stops. Hannibal bites his lower lip, wanting to urge, to entice, but Will pulls back, controlled and fine, and forces Hannibal's hand away from him.

"No, sweetheart," he growls, and his voice is so low, so incredibly rough, it feels like nails. Will stares down at him like a rabid animal, eager to bury his teeth in soft flesh. Will's fingers flex, find Hannibal's arms, push him down. "Did I say you could touch me?"

Hannibal's heart stutters, pulses, turns to rushing. He shakes his head, just an inch, and Will smiles, showing teeth. He leans down and kisses Hannibal again, so softly and sweetly, it's jarring. Will's control, iron-clad; his love, gentle as sunlight.

"I'm not done with you yet," Will growls to his mouth, licks Hannibal's lower lip, bites once, harshly, at his jaw. He pulls back, forcing Hannibal's clothes off, over his shoes, so that he can free himself. He shakes it off, reaches for Hannibal and pulls him to shaky legs.

"Not done with me," Hannibal repeats, means it lightly, as a tease, but it comes out breathy, ruined. His lungs might never find air again unless Will provides it. His heart might never reset in its rhythm.

Will shakes his head, flushed and feral. He takes Hannibal by the wrists, threads them together so one hand holds both, and tugs. "Upstairs."


	4. Stuffing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was MEANT to be begging but I usually have some of that in fics anyway? so I combined humiliation and stuffing :D

It starts, as most things do, with an errant comment. Words, half-thought and half-registered, slipping from lips and tongue lax with pleasure, a mind soft and malleable with sweet wine and gentle firelight. A comment, slurred as Will's temple settled to Hannibal's shoulder, his lashes low, and he'd sighed;

 

"I'll get fat with you feeding me this well."

Hannibal's head, tilting until his nose touches soft curls, nuzzles the wayward mess of his lover's hair. One arm wraps around Will's shoulders like the weight of a coat, thumb to his nape, brushing, teasing feather-light to raise and elicit shivers and sighs.

His other hand drops, searches, knuckles brushing along the swell of Will's stomach. Finds it distended with the large meal Hannibal had served – the winter months are a time for indulgence, he'd said, and fed Will thick slabs of meat, warm scones with marmalades in flavors Will has never sampled. Then, delicate sponge, lighter than air, topped with wild berries and the sweetest cream. He had watched Will, soft-lipped and eyes heavy with the wine Hannibal had given him – specially brewed, to be tart and conjure thirst, and strong, to lure his lover into fine complacency.

Now, Will is sleek and slack against him, knees to Hannibal's lap, shoulder tucked beneath Hannibal's arm. He sighs, protests with merely a gruff sound as Hannibal touches his very full stomach. Hannibal smiles.

Will's protests, when they come, are formless, shapeless, yet there is always some shred of truth in them, a worm of genuine anxiety or pervasive thought that Hannibal can see and pick out, lets it lure him, lets it hook him.

He bites.

"You will never be anything less than completely, utterly beautiful to me, Will."

Will huffs, protesting again. He hooked the wrong fish, and throws Hannibal's sweet words back.

Hannibal considers this, the tension in Will's stomach, the roll of his shoulders and the way his breath comes, once, very harsh, spreads and smooths over his neck like hands on clay. Hannibal tilts to him, tightens his hand, digs his thumb beside Will's spine.

Turns him, so his mouth can meet Will's ear; "Would you rather I feed you less, or work you more?"

Will stutters, stammers, swallows harshly. There we are. Hannibal doesn't wait for his decision – there is only one acceptable course of action, anyway. Hannibal will certainly never stop feeding Will. He likes Will slack-jawed, dizzy with drink, utterly useless with satisfaction. In all his coltish grace, wine-tipsy, tilting, kiltered, as he falls into Hannibal's arms.

He growls, huffs, as Hannibal brings him close and leads him out of the study.

"You got me drunk," he says accusingly, like he didn't ask for glass number two, or three. Like he didn't sing sweet praises in the arch of his neck, the curl of his fingers, the gentle light in his eyes that saw Hannibal's challenge and took it.

"I merely made you pliant," Hannibal replies. He could have done it with words, with firelight, with the slow-tick of the clock until Will crumbled for him. He's smiling when Will grunts and curls his nails in Hannibal's forearms – bared, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Hannibal did it when Will was on his second glass, and Will's eyes haven't turned a shade lighter since. He pushes Will back and Will huffs, sinks down, lets the bed rise up and hold him and he sprawls, sunning-cat-like, on the bed.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, smiles when Will grins at him, pink-cheeked. He prowls to his lover, leans down and kisses his forehead, pleased when Will whines as he pulls back.

"I'll return for you shortly," Hannibal says. "If you can manage it, try taking your clothes off."

" _You_ should take my clothes off," Will replies with a roll of his eyes, a roll of his head. He heaves a sigh. "Since you like me so _pliant_."

Hannibal laughs, and swats Will on the thigh. "Petulant boy," he says warmly, and stands, heading to the bathroom. His en suite is large, the bathtub spreads wide and covers the entire back wall and one corner, easily big enough for a grown man to lay down completely within it. He reaches into the cabinet below the sink, pulling out the suction cup toy Will doesn't think he knows about – or left deliberately, for him to find.

Well, if Will wants to play, Hannibal can certainly let him.

He sticks the suction end to the bottom of the bathtub, right in the center, and starts the water, letting a shallow pool about an inch deep gather. He tests the grip of the suction cup, finds it unyielding enough, and smiles, straightening up. He sheds his suit jacket, tie, and vest, and returns to the bedroom with them in hand.

He sets his clothes down and regards Will.

Will has managed to bare most of himself to the open air; underwear clinging to his ankles, chest pink, head tossed back as he drags his hands down his chest. Hannibal watches him as he kicks off the last of his clothing, admires the brazen spread of Will's legs, the way his hands are flat and wide and cover his pale skin, dragging and clawing at his own flesh. He's undoubtedly pretending it's Hannibal's hands – only Hannibal touches him with such a combination of nails and gentle palms.

Will blinks, sucks in a breath, digs his heels into the mattress and wraps a hand around his cock, groaning with pleasure. His eyes find Hannibal's, dark and low-lidded. He shows his teeth in a teasing grin.

Hannibal returns it, prowls to Will and, with little ceremony, hauls him off the bed and over his shoulder.

Will shrieks, groaning as his full stomach presses against Hannibal's shoulder. He goes pliant immediately, not wanting to hit anything important, and gives a huff of embarrassment as Hannibal carries him into the bathroom, and then sets him on his feet.

Will's cheeks are red for an entirely different reason now, and he glares up at Hannibal. "Asshole," he mutters.

Hannibal smiles, lets out a hum and nuzzles Will's forehead. "Speaking of which," he says, and grabs Will by the hips, turns him around and bends him, forcing Will to catch himself on the edge of the tub. Will's toy juts out proudly from the pool of water and Hannibal knows Will sees it – hears his breath catch, sees his head turn to meet Hannibal's eyes, wide and shocked. Though whether that's just to see the toy there, or an eager anticipation of Hannibal's reaction, he cannot say.

Hannibal lets his face remain cool and impassive, reaches for the bottle of lube he found next to the dildo and slicks his fingers with it. "You can see why I give you so much food," he says, and spreads Will wide, rubs his fingers over Will's hole. Will shivers, mouth working like he wants to speak, but can't, too flustered to reply. "Clearly I'm not enough to fill you, judging by your little secret."

Will flinches, whining as Hannibal sinks two fingers into him without warning. Will spasms, tight and hot around him, his fingers digging desperately into the edge of the tub. Hannibal watches his hips roll, his back flex. Looks beyond Will's shoulder, to the dildo standing tall in the middle of the tub. It's made to look realistic, dark-pink head and thick, veiny shaft, and it's bigger than Hannibal by quite a significant amount. Surely, it wouldn't fit in Will's mouth, at least.

"How many times have you used it, Will?" Hannibal demands, though his tone is aloof as he can make it. Will whines, shakes his head, and Hannibal growls, presses deep with his fingers and finds Will's prostate, circling, pressing down until Will's knees tremble and his hips rut forward.

"Hannibal, _please_ ," Will whimpers, shaking his head again. There's a new flush on him, now, fresh goose bumps, embarrassed at being forced to look at that _damn toy_ , spread open and finger-fucked while Hannibal remains fully-clothed, behind him.

Hannibal's fingers go still. He reaches forward, yanks Will up by the hair, plants his teeth under Will's ear. Will whines and Hannibal pulls his fingers out, stretches his hand around Will's heavy stomach and Will sags, shivering, caught between the promise of pleasure and the uncomfortable ache of Hannibal's judgement.

"How many times have you used it, Will?"

Will shakes his head. "Just once," he replies. "I didn't like it."

Hannibal hums, tightens his hands. "Why not?"

Will licks his lips. "It wasn't you."

Hannibal considers that; lets the sweet admission soothe his heart, gentle his teeth. He kisses Will's flushed neck, embraces him and feels Will tremble in his arms.

Says, very quietly; "I'd like to watch."

Will sucks in a breath, turns in his arms, his eyes wide when Hannibal straightens so their gazes can lock. Will touches him, reverent, leans up for a kiss but Hannibal lifts his chin, refuses it. Will whines, kisses his jaw instead.

"Please," he says. "I swear -. I don't want it. I want you."

Hannibal tilts his head, one hand still in Will's hair, tugs at a wayward curl until Will winces. "You misunderstand me, darling," he says. Will looks up at him, wide-eyed and plaintive. Hannibal smiles, and puts his hand on Will's stomach, wide. "I think some time working yourself onto that monster will burn plenty of calories, don't you?"

Will's eyes flash, widen further. He bites his lower lip, flushing very darkly, and ducks his head, rests on Hannibal's shoulder. Considers. Hannibal knows why – to be so exposed like that, forced to work himself on a toy while Hannibal watches will tug unpleasantly at Will's insecurities, those deep-seated feelings of inadequacy that only slip out when his tongue is loose, and his neck is lax.

Hannibal tugs on his hair and forces Will to look at him again.

"That wasn't a request," he says, rough, pushing past the last barrier of Will's hesitation, to his molten obedience. "Was it?"

Of course, it was. If Will truly doesn't want to, Hannibal won't make him. They don't play those kinds of games. But sometimes Will needs to pretend, pretend that Hannibal's power over him is absolute, so that he can respond and focus on something outside his own head.

So, Will swallows, shakes his head, lowers his eyes. "No," he replies, and Hannibal growls, tightens his hold. Will winces. "I'm sorry. I'll be good."

Hannibal smiles, and rewards Will with a kiss. Will presses himself to Hannibal's chest eagerly, hands flat and tugging on his shirtsleeves, at his shoulders. Hannibal takes Will by the hips, turns him and urges him into the tub.

Will goes, crouching down and falling to his knees in the tub. His thighs encase the dildo and Hannibal's mouth waters, seeing how much larger than Will it is – almost twice the size. As full as Will is, it will surely be uncomfortable. Might even make his stomach bulge.

Will looks at him, wide-eyed, like he's thinking the same thing. Hannibal smiles at him, kneels on the other side of the tub and rests his forearms on the edge of it.

"Hands and knees," he purrs. "Slowly."

Will sucks in a breath, rises to his knees and crawls forward, water swirling around him. He settles, the dildo tilting to rut up under his balls, under his cock. He wets his hands with the water and smears it over the dildo, hands shaking. His lips are parted, neck limp, hair falling forward to hide his eyes.

"Did you manage to take it all the way in, when you used it?" Hannibal asks.

Will shakes his head, grits his teeth. "It's too big," he says – plaintive, blush-red. He's trembling so harshly, Hannibal imagines he can feel it where his hands are. His fingers curl.

Will doesn't wait for him to say another command. He reaches behind himself, presses his fingers in deep and trembles, other hand flat to the bottom of the tub. He cants his hips up, rolls forward and steadies himself on his knees, on trembling thighs, on ankles tense with strain. His achilles tendon, pulled tight, his toes bent up and the arch of his foot on sharp display.

He wraps his fingers around the head of the fake cock, tilts his head to meet Hannibal's eyes, and then can't. Can't – bears down and dips down and sinks down and yells, sharply, as the bulging mushroom head splits his body apart.

" _Fuck_ ," he hisses, tight with pain. He lets go of the dildo, body too tense and clenching for it to slip back out. His back arches, hands made into fists where the tub curves up at the sides, like he wants to reach for Hannibal, find his fingers, lace. He throws his head back, snarling, shaking as he sinks down another inch. Hannibal shifts his weight, so he can see – see Will's red, sore rim stretched so wide around the dildo, watch his back tense and tremble, strong muscles flexing as he forces himself to take another inch.

When he's halfway down, he stops, whimpering. "It's too much," he gasps, and he can't even turn, too tense and strung-out to risk turning his head. Hannibal looks to him, moves to Will's head and meets his eyes, finds them wet and red-rimmed. Will grabs at him, fingers wet and locking around Hannibal's wrist, seeking mercy. "Please. I can't."

Hannibal lifts a brow, looks down pointedly to Will's erection. He's hard, heavy between his thighs, a drooling, thick line of precum staining the water.

He leans forward, presses on Will's heavy stomach and Will gasps, whimpering, curling back to try and get the pressure to lighten. It forces the dildo deeper inside of him and Hannibal's mouth goes dry as he feels it, feels its pressure and hardness, pushing at Will's insides.

Will moans, high and rough, as his ass connects with the swollen base. His entire body is slick with sweat, now, with strain, and Hannibal smiles, skirts his hand down and wraps around Will's cock, stroking once, very tightly. Will bucks before he can stop himself, groaning at the feeling of the dildo stretching him out, hands flying to grip at the edges of the tub.

He's beautiful, stuffed to the brim and pale with exhaustion. He'll be too sore to touch, after. Hannibal wants to claw him to pieces when he's done.

He lets go of Will's cock, settles down to watch. Will looks at him, wide-eyed, desperate, and Hannibal lifts his eyebrows, tilts his mouth up in a smile; Well?

Will is static, trembling like a mountain meeting cannon fire. He'll break, soon. He rolls his hips, touches himself with a tight grip, head tilted back, jaw clenched. He looks like he's in pain – Hannibal so adores that look on Will.

"That's it," he growls, rough as Will starts to rock his hips gently, accommodating the stretch, getting used to it. Hannibal presses his hand to Will's stomach again, tightens when Will bears down, and he lets out a strained, eager noise. "Beautiful, Will. Keep moving just like that."

"Hannibal, _please_ ," Will whines. "Let me – let me take it out."

"No," Hannibal replies, still just as soft, but snarling. "Not until I say so."

Will flinches, grimacing, and fixes Hannibal with a petulant glare. "Goddamn sadist," he hisses, and Hannibal smiles. That's no secret, certainly.

"Keep going, darling," Hannibal purrs, and presses more insistently on Will's stomach. Will groans, falling forward, fucking into his own hand with little rabbiting thrusts. "Good boy. You look so lovely, I could watch you doing this forever."

" _Fuck_ ," Will growls, tightening his hand. His other hand wraps around Hannibal's wrist, trying to get him to ease the pressure, forcing himself back onto the dildo and Hannibal growls, salivating, leaning forward as Will fights him. "Fuck, _shit_ , I'm gonna -."

"Do it," Hannibal snarls, and Will trembles, wincing, and comes over his hand, making a mess in the water. He gasps, and flinches, lifting up and the dildo slides out of him and Will howls, hissing. Hannibal licks his lips, breathing in the scent of Will's pain, his arousal – the sweet-red blush on his chest and cheeks.

He hauls Will to him, soothing him as he stands and helps Will out of the bath. Will trembles, sags to his knees and Hannibal follows, lets Will nuzzle and bite at his shoulder, needing somewhere to put his frustration. He's spasming, cock smearing sticky-wet on Hannibal's thigh, his face a mask of tears from the pain of taking so much.

Hannibal pets him, curls around him, lets Will shake and sigh. He can feel Will's pleasure, the knife-edge of humiliation still clinging. Will clutches at him, sobs and bites and Hannibal lets him, lets him calm, lets him settle. He nuzzles Will's sweaty hair and kisses open-mouthed at his neck as Will lets out a weak, relieved noise, and settles to his heels.

"Throw the damn thing away," he says.

Hannibal smiles. "As you wish, mylimasis."


	5. Rimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone knows me, or knows my work, they'll know I make it a big point with hannibal in super kinky situations to get consent and make sure he has it through the whole scene. it doesn't matter much for this one, but a few of the chapters will be kinda dubcon. i won't tag it for that, because I want people to know there are always safewords (and if there aren't, if the situation is different than established, mutual-consent situations, I'll make a note of it in the chapter)
> 
> this note is irrelevant for this chapter, but I wanted to say it. enjoy!

Hannibal presses deep, going still with a snarl as Will arches up to him, frantic and pleading, clawing at the sheets as he comes in a heavy mess, staining the pillow Hannibal placed beneath his hips. Hannibal leans down, bares teeth, bites and Will groans, trembling with release, legs spread and back arching to get Hannibal to sink deeper into him – cock, teeth, hands clawing at his hips to keep him still as Hannibal ruts.

He growls as Will tightens up for him, whimpering, trembling and sodden with sweat. "Good boy," he growls, teeth red from Will's flesh. He nuzzles Will's nape, kisses his sore, bruised skin. Will sighs, still-shaken, turns his head and Hannibal rewards him with another kiss to his slack mouth. He pulls back, fucks in again, notes with pleasure how Will tenses up and whimpers with pain as Hannibal's cockhead hits his prostate.

Hannibal lets out a rough sound, sliding a hand under Will's belly to fist his softening cock. Will tenses, baring his teeth, knuckles white in the pillows by his head. Hannibal has fucked him for most of the night, wringing orgasm after orgasm from him, forcing him through two, three – this was his fourth, and the mess on the pillow is thick and warm, half-dried against Hannibal's knuckles.

"Hannibal," Will gasps, moaning weakly, high-pitched and resigned. " _God_ , are you ever gonna fuckin' come?"

Hannibal huffs a laugh. "Oh, sweet Will," he purrs, brushes his thumb over the red head of Will's cock, through the slick still clinging. Will jerks, back, forces Hannibal deeper, and trembles as another aftershock ricochets down his spine. "How could I ever want to leave you? Your body is so warm, so tight around me."

He kisses Will's neck, digs his nails into Will's hip, feels skin give and bruise under his touch. Will has a pattern of bites along his shoulders and neck, claw marks and nails in his hips, bruises on his thighs. He's a savage work of art, Hannibal's finest composition, and Hannibal could spend days writing score after score on Will's flesh.

He bites again, gentler, sucks a purple-dark bruise to Will's shoulder as Will sighs, moaning, hips twitching and ass clenching tight around Hannibal's cock.

"Please," he whispers, so soft, so sweet. "Please, come in me. I want you to."

Hannibal's eyes close, his spine clenches with arousal at Will's desperate plea. Will must sense it, for when he speaks again, it's rougher, rushed; "Please. Fuckin' do it. I want your marks, inside and out."

Hannibal snarls, lets out a curse, plants both hands on Will's hips and fucks him brutally. The bed creaks, headboard knocking, and Will flattens his hands to it, rises to his knees and pushes back and Hannibal – well, he's only a man.

He slams deep into Will, comes with a snarl to Will's sweaty hair, fills his lover with so much that it pools, leaks out around his sensitive cock, staining their thighs. Will moans, weakly, sagging so much that it forces Hannibal to pull out of him.

Hannibal hisses, sitting back, digs his thumbs into Will's ass and spreads him, feasts his eyes on Will's red rim, leaking white. He licks his lips, eyes the sweaty slope of Will's back, the tremble of his thighs, the tilted-to-show blush of his cheek and lowered lashes.

He smiles to himself. So, Will thinks it's over. Sweet, innocent thing.

Hannibal leans down, closes his eyes, and licks through the mess he made. Will goes tense, whimpering as Hannibal's tongue curls, sinks into his sore hole, tasting himself and the lubricant there. Will's knees draw up, his shoulders rise as he moves to his elbows, and Hannibal growls, tightens his hold so Will can't pull away, and licks again.

Edges his teeth on Will's rim, just to hear him cry out, a bastardized version of Hannibal's name and a curse combined.

He hums, slicks his fingers through his come, and drags it to Will's hole. Sinks in with one finger and his tongue, forcing more of his come to drip out, gathering behind his teeth. Will whimpers, clamping down when Hannibal touches his swollen prostate, drags his nail over abused flesh inside. He cups Will's balls with his other hand, rolls them in a gentle touch, pushes with his thumb right behind them so his prostate is getting pinched from both sides.

Will twitches, crying out hoarsely, and Hannibal sinks his tongue into him again, listens to Will whimper, groan with sensation. It hurts, Hannibal knows it hurts, but Will has no voice to protest, no power in him to move away.

Hannibal pulls his finger out, spreads Will wide and presses deep with his tongue, curling, feeling tender muscles part for him. Will trembles, sags, resigns himself to Hannibal's pleasure as Hannibal gets him wet, gets him slick enough to fuck again.

Hannibal rears up, yanks Will by the hair and rolls him onto his back. He covers Will, forces him into a kiss and Will, slack-mouthed, answers him with a meek noise, hands flat on Hannibal's chest to hold him up and brace him there. Hannibal leans into him, weighted and warm, and forces Will's legs to spread again.

Forces his fingers into Will, curling up. Will shudders, gasping, eyes wide and glazed as Hannibal touches him and smears his own seed between their lips.

"One more," Hannibal demands, God-given.

Will whimpers, swallowing, and nods.

Hannibal smiles, kisses him deeply, and pulls his fingers out. Pushes his cock into Will and feels him shake. "That's what I thought."


	6. Sensory Deprivation

Will crouches, on his haunches, his ankles and the arches of his feet immediately protesting the placement of his muscles. He prowls forward, fingertips spreading out and bearing all his weight on them, wrists protesting weakly as he leans in, weight shifting along the hardwood floor.

A board creaks beneath his foot, and Hannibal's head turns, his breath catching. Will smiles, crawls in the opposite direction, across plush carpeting and thick, soft material as it curls and tickles his palms. He waits, lets Hannibal settle again, waits for his breath to come out heavy, and then leans in and licks over his cheek.

Hannibal flinches, fingers curling tight around the ropes, tugging on thick leather cuffs around his wrists. He's on his knees, one hand tied to the doorknob of his bathroom, the other stretched out and affixed to the closest bedpost.

So that Will has room to move, to come at him from any angle.

A thin piece of leather covers Hannibal's jaws, his mouth. Will coated it on the inside with heavy oil, overwhelmingly fragrant, vanilla and elderflower. Hannibal picked it out himself, so Will knows that the only unpleasantness is the fact that it's there at all, robbing him of the pleasure of smelling Will.

Will smiles, ducks under his arm, feels Hannibal tense and shiver at the brush of his warmth along his flank. Will turns his head, bites at a flexing muscle beneath Hannibal's shoulder blade and Hannibal jerks, growling in warning.

Will pauses, knees to the floor, and pulls his mouth, his hands away. "Somethin' on your mind, sweetheart?" he asks, whisper-soft, a growl that has teeth and claws and he wants to touch, to tear into Hannibal, but the point is that he doesn't.

Hannibal always wants to touch him. Will refuses, because he can.

Hannibal's head turns, and the black band of cloth over his eyes makes his cheeks looks even sharper, the flush on them sweeter. Hannibal has always said he wants to taste Will's blush and Will thinks he might be starting to understand what that means, looking at him now.

Hannibal is silent, so Will snarls again, and stands; "If you don't want me here -."

Hannibal jerks, and lets out a quiet, plaintive sound that stops Will in his tracks – stops his breath, his heart. His fingers curl and he wants to touch Hannibal so badly. Must resist, must, for the sake of the game. Hannibal can only hear him – cannot smell him, cannot see him. He can only anticipate touch, gentleness, savagery, if he hears it coming.

"Will," Hannibal breathes, in the wake of Will's silence. Will ducks down, brushing gentle fingers below his arm, then lets go and doesn't miss how Hannibal's stomach sinks in, his neck rolls like he's trying to work the blindfold off. Will settles on his heels, elbows to his knees, watches him, ensnared. Tilts his head and wonders if Hannibal would let him put the collar on, next time.

His eyes drop, raking down, admiring the ashen curl of hair on his chest, thick and shining with sweat. He puts his chin in his hands, smiling as he notes the bulging tremor of Hannibal's shoulders, the rhythmic, too-deep pace his ribs are keeping. The ache, undoubtedly there, making his thighs tense up. His cock, only half-hard since Will has given him no stimulation, that hangs between his legs.

"Will," Hannibal says again, rougher now.

"I'm here," Will murmurs, watches as Hannibal's shoulders go lax with relief. Will kneels forward, puts his hands to the ground, leans up so Hannibal feels it when the tips of their noses touch. Hannibal sucks in a breath, fists clenching, leaning down to try and steal a kiss despite the mask on his face, and Will laughs, drawing back.

He returns to his position, crouched like a child watching an interesting bug dance its way across the water. Hannibal shivers, and Will hears his snarl behind the mask. "Don't rush me," Will says, scolding.

Hannibal growls at him again.

"I just want to watch you."

For it is a beautiful sight. Will's head tilts, eyes the red on Hannibal's neck, creeping down his throat like vines. His fingers curl and he licks his lips, thinks of opening Hannibal's skin up, soaking him in red. Thinks of, maybe, using his teeth on Hannibal's thighs, marking him up like Hannibal so eagerly lays bruises and bites to Will's flesh. Perhaps, putting his hands around Hannibal's neck, choking him until there's a permanent handprint left behind.

He stands, floorboards shifting beneath his weight, and Hannibal sucks in another breath, turns his head up as Will approaches him, settles back so Will can stand closer, between his knees. Will cups his face, digs his nails below the edges of the mask. He can smell the oil he used to muzzle Hannibal and his mouth waters, imagining how he'll taste there.

Unbidden, but inevitable, Will gasps as his cock twitches, hardening suddenly as that thought makes itself at home in his chest, curls up and starts to purr. He threads his fingers through Hannibal's soft hair, pulls him close and forces him to turn so Will can rut his erection against Hannibal's cheek, over the leather of the mask. His cockhead catches on the very edge of stubble and he groans, gritting his teeth at the feeling of his bare cock sliding across the warm, butter-soft leather.

Hannibal's knuckles are white, his neck tense. Will can tell he wants, desperately, to part his lips and let Will slide between them. Will forces himself to pull back, wraps a hand around his cock and starts to stroke, sweat his only source of slick. It hurts, but it doesn't matter.

" _Fuck_ , look at you," Will growls. The hand in Hannibal's hair drags down, nails and calluses, cups Hannibal's face and forces him to stare, upwards, blind and muzzled as justice. Will snarls, pushes his leaking cockhead against the mask, where Hannibal's mouth is. There are no holes for him to breathe, here, just over his nose. Will could suffocate him with nothing more than a pinch. The amount of trust Hannibal shows him, a wildcat showing its belly, drives him to a point beyond reason.

He grunts, digging his nails into the soft hollow of Hannibal's throat, and comes with a snarl, spilling over Hannibal's cheeks, the mask, the blindfold. Ruts his cock through the mess he left on Hannibal's jaw. He grabs Hannibal's hair with both hands, one slick, mussing him up, forces Hannibal's head up and away so Will can grind against his bared throat, spilling the last few, twitching spurts onto his red, bared flesh.

He's breathing heavily when he pulls away, sinks to his knees and cups Hannibal's head. His eyes close, and he imagines Hannibal is doing the same. Heads tilt, and Will licks over the outlined seam of Hannibal's mouth, tasting sweat, leather, his own come.

He reaches back, undoes the mask and pulls it off, is rewarded with a sharp exhale and the scent of vanilla. He leans up, allows Hannibal to kiss him, to bite at his lips and sink his tongue into Will's mouth, asserting himself with his kiss since he cannot with his hands. Will tugs at the knot of the blindfold, lets it go loose, parts from Hannibal to let it fall around his neck like a collar.

Hannibal blinks, flutter-quick, adjusting to the light in the room. There's still come on his cheeks, in his hair, and Will purrs, leans in and kisses him again, smearing the mess. His fingers slide through the slick on his neck and he ducks his head, licks it clean.

Hannibal growls, arms straining, wanting to reach, wanting to touch. "Will," he says, hoarse. He bows his head and Will kisses him, nuzzles him.

"You did such a good job," he whispers, marks the tremble of Hannibal's shoulders, the iron-hot line of his spine. He pushes at Hannibal's thighs, lets him bring his knees together and settle on his heels, more comfortably. Hannibal shivers, leans forward and turns his arms so more weight is on his shoulders, relieving the ache in his back. "I'm so proud of you." Hannibal trembles, lips pressed together. He turns his head away and Will smiles, kissing his hair and cupping his jaw. "Proud to call you mine."

Hannibal's shoulders roll – not to shake Will off, but maybe his words. Too heavy, too soon.

Will understands. He kisses Hannibal's nape, drags nails down his spine. "I want to watch you a little while longer," he says. Sees the not-command sink, sees Hannibal breathe deep, tense up in readiness. "Is that alright?"

A second of hesitation, then Hannibal nods.

Will hums, kissing him again. "Would you like the blindfold back on?"

Hannibal nods again, readily this time. Will hides a smile, takes the blindfold and stretches it, pulling it back into place and tightening with a harsh tug. How strange, their reversal; Will would do anything to avoid eye contact with anyone but Hannibal, but in their bedroom, when they're like this, he is demanding with it, wishes to see Hannibal, as a beast – wishes to see his love, his rage, his restraint. Looks in his eyes and sees his soul.

But sometimes Hannibal simply cannot show it, and needs to hide. Will allows it, for it does not happen often.

He kisses Hannibal – kisses his neck, the bulging corner of his jaw. Kisses his sharp cheekbone, licks the oil from his mouth. Kisses Hannibal's lips, as deep as he can until Hannibal gasps and arches into him. He slides around Hannibal, under his arm, and kisses him once more. Cups his jaw and presses his lips to his forehead.

"Thank you, Hannibal," he breathes.

Then, he lets go. Doesn't replace the mask – he wants to watch Hannibal's mouth now, too. Wants to see his teeth, his tongue. He settles close, knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them and settles his chin on top.

He sees the weight of his gaze, his silence, settle on Hannibal's shoulders. Hannibal straightens back up, spreads his knees, tilts his head to the side and shows his throat. Will licks his lips, tightens his nails into his shins, and growls.

He sees, barely-there, a twitch of a smile.


	7. Spanking

Will hasn't felt like a prey animal in a long, long time. Yet this, this is close to it. Hackles up, eyes averted, he cannot meet Hannibal's gaze. He feels, like the moment of silence before a shockwave, Hannibal's blistering anger. It coats him like oil and Hannibal is holding a match, ready to set him aflame.

He doesn't regret what he said, only how he said it. Wine and stress have made him frantic, on-edge, ready to lash out at the only man who could truly pull retaliation from him, exultant love and seething hatred all at the same time.

Will flinches when Hannibal moves, though he does nothing more than tilt his head. His breathing is unsteady, heavy, and he thinks if he stops for even a second his heart will take advantage of the distraction and burst from his chest.

His hands shake.

He watches Hannibal from his periphery, ready to fight, to flee. If Hannibal's patience has run out, Will's life is forfeit, he knows that. He looks for the shine of a knife, for the flash of his teeth. Looks, wants to leap, heels lifting from the floor.

Then, Hannibal sits back, and spreads his knees. It's an open gesture, comfortable and controlled.

"Come here, Will."

And, because he's a fool, Will goes. He trembles as Hannibal pulls him in by the hips, kisses Will's knuckles when Will tries to get his dangerous mouth away. He tugs on Will, lets him settle on one leg, his knees touching the inside of Hannibal's other thigh.

Slides a hand into his hair. Tightens, and Will whines.

"I'm -."

"Don't apologize unless you mean it," Hannibal says, chin lifted. Will should wrap his hands around him and strike, kill Hannibal before he kills Will. Should – and his hand does lift, but it settles with utmost gentleness on Hannibal's cheek instead, knuckles curling.

Hannibal meets his eyes, smiles, strokes his thumb so-gently over Will's flushed skin, where his shirt ends. Hums, considering; "Are you going to ask me to stop?"

Will frowns. "What? No," he replies, shaking his head. Asking Hannibal to stop would be like asking the sky and oceans to swap places, asking the mountain to bow and a dog to suddenly become a cat. A spectacle, certainly, but it would go against nature.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, takes Will's hand from his cheek and kisses his knuckles. "Then, darling, we are at an impasse," he says. Will flinches and Hannibal's hand tightens in answer. "You cannot claim to understand my designs and then blame me for how they make you feel."

"I don't care about -. How they make me feel isn't the problem," Will admits, gritting his teeth. He can feel Hannibal's eyes on the side of his face, and forces himself to turn, to meet them. "Listening to everyone else calling you a monster, having to fake revulsion, it's -."

He shakes his head.

Hannibal hums, considering. "The man people want you to be and the man you are," he murmurs, voice very quiet. He kisses Will's knuckles again, presses his nose to Will's palm and Will shivers when Hannibal's lips brush his wrist. "Is that why you've been so…boorish, this evening?"

Will winces. Ducks his head in shame.

"I just want…" He stops.

"What do you want, Will?"

Will tilts his head, shows Hannibal the bared, vulnerable arch of his neck. Shivers when Hannibal eagerly accepts the invitation, brushes his warm, parted lips over Will's pulse. Will's fingers curl in his hair, tighten.

"You give me these feelings," he says. "You can take them away."

Hannibal hums, smiling. "And how would you like me to take them?"

"Ideally?" Will whispers, and swallows, and says; "By force."

Hannibal pauses, hand warm on Will's nape. His other one, curling slowly over Will's thighs, cupping him so he doesn't pull away. He puts his teeth to Will's neck and growls. "Do you think pain will absolve you of your sins?" he whispers. Sounds angry again.

And Will is a fool, a prey animal, one that sees the predator and exposes its throat. "It's as good a place to start as any."

Hannibal huffs, and then nods. The gentleness melts from his hand like ice in a thaw and he pushes at Will, forcing him to stand. "Very well," he says, cold-cut, distant. Will flinches at the abrupt change in tone, puts his fingers to his neck where Hannibal's lips so carefully, tenderly touched mere minutes before. "Strip."

Will's stomach is tense, his heart hammering itself behind his ribs, but he forces his shaking fingers to obey, to pull his shirt over his head, shed his belt and his socks and his suit pants. Pulls, at Hannibal's expectant look, his underwear down and steps out of them. The air is cool on his flushed skin, the difference in their clothed states stark. He fights the urge to cover himself as Hannibal sits back, one elbow propped on the back of the couch, and rests his head against his fingers, idly-curled.

He smiles at Will, bares fangs, and nods to his knee.

Will blinks, eyes wide. He swallows. "You want…?"

"You've behaved like a child tonight," Hannibal says coolly. "So you will be punished like one."

Will's eyes fall, unbidden, to Hannibal's other hand, which rests innocuously over his thigh. Strong, wide-splayed fingers. The veins in the back of his hand are enough to get Will shivering. He imagines it flexing, imagines his palm growing red. Imagines the heat, the tenderness. The drag of nails.

He shivers and bows his head, meek and obedient, and carefully slides so that he's bent over Hannibal's lap, thighs touching, his torso stretched wide and neck sagging so his forehead presses against the couch. Hannibal sits forward, letting out a soft snarl of pleasure, and pets both hands warmly down Will's back.

Will whimpers, clutching blindly until he finds Hannibal's ankle, his shin, and digs in tight as one of Hannibal's hands settles over his ass, the other resting on his back to keep him down.

Hannibal hums, drags his nails under one cheek and Will hisses, lifting to his toes – chasing? Running away? At what point does fleeing from Hannibal become running towards him? Will has yet to find that out.

Hannibal's hand slides, flat, between his legs, knuckles angled up to press where the flesh is softest and yields the most. "I wonder," Hannibal murmurs. "Should I make you count? I think it would keep you too focused. Imply a point I would stop, or you would earn a reward."

Will is silent – Hannibal isn't talking to him, just at him. Will knows that. He swallows and bows his head.

"Perhaps I should just keep going, until I grow bored, or get tired." Will whines and hears Hannibal laugh. "Though I fear there might be much left of you, if I did that." Will trembles, groans softly as Hannibal spreads his hands out wide, grabs sharply at Will's flesh, until it hurts. He lets go, soothing the ache.

Will shivers, closes his eyes as Hannibal's free hand pets up his spine, curls around the front of his throat. Tugs him, upright, until Will chokes. Until he gasps.

"Please," he whispers.

"Please?" Hannibal repeats, taunting. He huffs and Will flushes, wants to curl up on himself in shame. But it's different shame, now – Hannibal doesn't conjure revulsion in him, and embarrassment is so much sweeter when in the arms of the man he loves. Even spread out, exposed, teased, Will knows Hannibal loves him.

He wouldn't bother with any of this, if he didn't.

Without warning, Hannibal brings his hand down, sharply, on Will's ass. Will jolts, cries out in shock, digs his nails into Hannibal's leg and bows his head, fighting Hannibal's tight hold there. He flinches, rising to his toes, wanting to get away from it. Hannibal hits him again, on the other cheek, and Will hisses sharply, baring his teeth.

Again, again, until Will stops making noise. Until he stops moving away from the touch and simply sags, limp, over Hannibal's lap. Until the sharp shock of pain becomes constant – hand, hand, nails? Nails again, digging, pinching him. Will is sure there are welts forming, deep blushing-pink marks in the shape of Hannibal's claws and his palm. Hannibal beats him mercilessly, does not stop when Will moans, doesn't stop when he begs.

Doesn't stop when he starts to cry.

Will sobs, pulling his hands from Hannibal's leg and putting them through his own hair. Hannibal's hand has moved from his neck, now, and it aches there too, and his forearm is across Will's shoulders, fingers dug tight to his ribs to stop him getting away.

Will doesn't want to get away. He's caught, hooked in Hannibal's snare. He shreds himself on barbed wire and is skinned by Hannibal's nails. He's slick – bleeding? Maybe, or just sweat – and then Hannibal's hand comes down, so heavily, it ricochets all the way up Will's spine and he lets out a single, weak, broken moan.

Hannibal stops. His hands – blister-warm, God, they're so _warm_ – turn gentle on Will's abused flesh. He sobs, wiping uselessly at the tears and saliva on his face, too weak and wet to make himself presentable. Hannibal brings his legs together, forces Will up, hauls him into his lap, Will's back facing his chest.

Will whimpers as his bruised skin comes into contact with Hannibal's clothes. It's too much, too hot, too _rough_ , _Hannibal_ , but Hannibal cages him in, nails on Will's hip, nails in his stomach. Will tilts his head back on Hannibal's shoulder, chest heaving, and gasps when Hannibal kisses him, gently, and licks through the trail of tears on his cheek.

Will is floating, could not form words if he wanted to.

Hannibal smiles, rolls his hips and Will whimpers, flinches, too tense when he feels Hannibal's erection press against his sore ass. "Shh, darling," he murmurs, and forces Will to stay where he is. "Just relax. That's it." His fingers, so warm, so gentle, stretch out over Will's belly, slide between his legs to tease the innards of his thighs, which had been spared the onslaught. Every clench and judder Hannibal elicits hurts, hurts so badly. Will can't stop crying, breaths weak with sobs. His stomach aches and he can't figure out what to do with his hands. Hus lungs burn, searing his ribs, drying out his blood.

" _Hannibal_ ," he cries.

Hannibal shushes him again, pets him, as Will sinks and floats at once, anchored by Hannibal's strong arms around him, and he feels everything shed itself like skin from a snake – feels, claws at, the feeling of internalized anger; the _why, why_ of when he'd had to pretend to be anything but enthralled by Hannibal's kills; the outrage, the indignation, when Jack called the Ripper a monster.

He wraps a hand through his hair, tugs, shows his sweaty neck to Hannibal's teeth and sobs when Hannibal kisses him. "I'm sorry," he rasps. Hannibal's hands go tight on him. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm _sorry_."

"Darling," Hannibal purrs. "You are forgiven."

Will turns into him, unable to be parted for a moment longer. He cups Hannibal's face, kisses him, body a tight coil of pain and pleasure as Hannibal soothes him, lets Will kiss him. His lips part and Will licks into his mouth, seeking, trembling as Hannibal's hands pet down his heaving flanks.

Hannibal growls, licks the corner of Will's mouth, stained with salt, with tears. Will trembles, meets his eyes. His thighs ache, his ass burns unbearably, and Hannibal is so _warm_. Hannibal shivers for him, shows his teeth, and Will swallows harshly.

His sins are forgiven, but not forgotten. Hannibal's anger is blinding.

He kisses Hannibal again, drinks down his next low sound. "Do you want to use something heavier than your hand?"

Hannibal's eyes flash, his head tilts curiously. Yet he says; "I do," because he has always been honest with Will when it suits him. "Do you still have _feelings_ you wish to shed?"

"Not shed," Will murmurs, wincing at Hannibal's bitter, icy tone. "I want to give them to you. Share them with you, as I share them with no one else."

Hannibal blinks at him, his eyes clearing somewhat. Less angry, now, realizing he had taken Will's words as insult, and not the offer they were. His hands tighten and he drags Will close, drags him into a kiss. Drags him down like cement to a lakebed, and Will goes, and feels the air warm and red around him.

"Will you take them?" he whispers, presses the words to Hannibal's parted lips.

Hannibal growls, and nods, and gives Will a predator's smile. "By force."


	8. Orgasm Denial

Throughout the entire time Hannibal has known Will, he cannot think of a single moment, a single solitary movement of time, where he did not appear as the most beautiful thing in the world. In his quiet, drunken rage, he is lovely – defiled grace and avenging wrath. When he is sweet, flushed prettily like the innards of roasted meat, when he slips Hannibal a half-lidded gaze, a kiss in the form of lashes touching cheeks. When he smiles, off-kilter, teetering into a grin. When his voice gets low and he teases at Hannibal, plies him with pretty words and brazen flashes of his neck, his throat – God, is he wonderful then.

When his eyes are black, his face a flat mask like marble just waiting to be carved. Hannibal could carve him, surely, but it's so much more satisfying to see the creature in Will's chest make its own home there, make a shape – when he holds his gun in a steady grip, when he slices through the meat Hannibal brings him, when he drinks down wine and sees the blood on Hannibal's hands, his expression is like this; unlike Hannibal, who keeps his monster restrained until it suits, and waits patiently, Will's humanity is kept in a glass cage with his darkness, frantically trying to beat its way out. And yet it cannot, cannot because Will won't let it. Either they both survive, or neither do.

Yet his creature calls to Hannibal's monster, and Hannibal runs to answer.

But like this, he's exquisite. There's a belt around his neck, looped tightly so that it cannot constrict him to the point of suffocation, but his neck is red and there will be certainly lines left behind. Sweat gathers in the sweet horseshoe hollow of his neck and Hannibal leans up, licks it clean.

Will whimpers, bows his head so his forehead touches Hannibal's temple. His breath is heavy, lips parted, teeth bared, eyes clenched tightly shut in pain. His arms, straining, shaking with exhaustion as he keeps himself on his hands and knees, clutching desperately at the sheets below Hannibal's back.

Hannibal tugs on his belt, smiling when Will doesn't flinch, doesn't falter except to gasp, lashes fluttering, head jerking sharply like he wants to bite.

Wants to. Doesn't. He's too well behaved for that.

Will slams deep, lets out a ruined, wrecked moan against Hannibal's shoulder, edges teeth and tongue and moans when Hannibal tightens around him. He licks over the pink mark of his teeth, sobbing with need.

"Please," he says. He raises his head, rests their foreheads together, hauls Hannibal into his lap and Hannibal growls, stiffening in pleasure as Will presses inside him, his cock hard and hot, he's twitching all over with restraint.

Will spears him with desperation, lets Hannibal drink the desire on his flesh, lets the scent of him tempt and tease. His cheeks, bearing a red blush, his bruised lips from where Hannibal used his mouth before letting Will inside him, his sweat-slick hair and jaw stained with bruises from Hannibal's nails – all of it creates a symphony, a supremely satisfying sight that makes Hannibal's gut clench with hunger.

"Please," Will whispers again. He's not allowed to come tonight, Hannibal said that before they started. Oh, but it is tempting. To see Will lose himself in Hannibal's flesh, to drag him to the edge of pleasure by his hair, by his nails. To throw him over it and watch him, melted and marred – it's beautiful.

Hannibal cups his face, digs his nails under the belt around Will's throat, tugs and tightens it until Will moans, flinches into him, hands pressing flat to Hannibal's chest as Hannibal digs his heels into Will's thighs and hauls him closer.

"What are you begging for, Will?" he murmurs. Growls it.

Will shakes his head, breathing shaky and fine. He might be made of glass, might shatter as all pretty things do when treated too roughly. But Hannibal knows he is made of iron and salt, concrete and steel. He will not break.

Will presses his forehead to Hannibal's, rears up, forces himself tight between Hannibal's thighs. "Kiss me," he whispers, and Hannibal smiles, lifts his chin and claims Will's mouth. Will trembles, shudders, ruts into him. Hannibal understands the need, the want to scratch that itch – but if he scratches too hard, if he comes without permission, Hannibal will make him bleed.

Maybe Will wants that. It's always so hard to tell if he is going to disobey until he does it.

Hannibal pets his hair from his face, kisses him and sinks his teeth into Will's lower lip as Will trembles, wraps a hand around Hannibal's cock and strokes tightly. Hannibal clenches down around him and Will shudders, shakes, sucks in a breath and presses his cheek to Hannibal's, moaning raggedly.

"Please," he begs again. "Please, come. Come for me."

His hips roll, stutter, his cockhead pushed hard to Hannibal's prostate and Hannibal trembles, snarls, tugs on Will's belt until the skin around it goes white. Will whines, turns his head and nips Hannibal's ear, at the arch. He exhales, heavy, clutches with his free hand in Hannibal's chest hair like he wants to claw his way through.

Hannibal snarls, puts his hands to Will's hips, digs in with nails. "Pull out, Will."

Will lets out a wrecked, softly-protesting moan, like Hannibal accompanied the order with a lash to his spine. But he obeys, cock very dark, twitching at the harsh brush of cool air. He lets go of Hannibal's cock, lets Hannibal push him to his knees, lets Hannibal knot his hair, tug him towards his lap.

Will falls to his elbows, careful not to brush his sensitive cock against the sheets. Hannibal smirks, tilting his head; Will is so sweet, to think it'll be that easy.

"On your stomach, darling," he commands, and takes his cock in hand, stroking it slowly and keeping it aimed for Will's face. Will's eyes flash up to him, wide and desperate and he knows, he knows exactly what Hannibal intends to do.

Slowly, hesitant and exposed like a frayed nerve, he presses his chest to the bed between Hannibal's feet. Then, his hips roll down, rutting his cock against the sheets. Then, his thighs settle, and he sighs very heavily, breath warm and skating over Hannibal's cock.

Hannibal growls, tightens his hand in Will's hair until Will's eyelids flutter, he closes them and braces himself on his elbows, growling as his sensitive cock drags over the soft bedclothes. Hannibal knows from experience they cannot compare to the wet, hot cling of a man. Will's shoulders tense up, his jaw clenches, and he meets Hannibal's eyes, dark with a promise like he's waiting for a single moment of slackness, of trust, to lunge for Hannibal's exposed throat.

Hannibal laughs, the sound muffled by a contented sigh as he pulls at Will's hair, sits forward, drags his leaking cockhead over Will's red lower lip. Will whines, tongue snaking out to steal a taste. "I love it when you look at me like that," he says, and grabs the belt around Will's neck, pulls it tight so he can't respond.

He pulls Will close, wraps leather and knuckles in Will's hair, forces him to part his lips and take Hannibal between his teeth. Will moans, too strung-out and slack to fight it, and sinks down until his nose touches Hannibal's stomach. He's slick and wet on the inside, tongue sliding thickly down the vein of Hannibal's cock.

Hannibal growls, tightens his hand and bucks up, choking Will, relishing the spasm of his throat and the hoarse, muffled sound of him trying to take in air. He doesn't let Will pull away, watches his spine tense, his hands shake, watches his hips rut down, undeniably turned on by Hannibal's rough use of him.

"That's it, good boy," Hannibal purrs, unable to keep his eyes open as he starts to come, spilling down Will's warm throat. Will whimpers, trying desperately to breathe, and Hannibal touches his cheeks and feels tears there.

He finishes with a grunt, pulls Will off and kisses him, pets his sweaty hair, smiling as Will gasps and moans and arches so sweetly to him. "Good boy," he murmurs, loosening the belt around Will's neck, letting it slide off him. His nails drag down Will's chest, over his stomach.

Stop, just shy.

Will can't speak, merely gasps, a prayer of Hannibal's name. Lifts his head, shows Hannibal such sweet rapture, such pained adoration. Leans in, kisses wetly at Hannibal's mouth, slides his fingers through Hannibal's hair as Hannibal leans back, guides Will between his legs again.

Lets Will sink in, feels him tremble and sob. Hannibal huffs, feeling sore flesh part for Will, yielding, his body soft in response to Will's hardness, lax in his tension, accepting his rushed, forceful entry. Entry of his cock, entry of his teeth in Hannibal's neck, his hands in his hair.

Will plummets to him, crashes, shatters with a moan quiet enough that Hannibal barely hears it under the rush of their breaths, the pounding of their hearts. He digs his nails into Will's back, pulls him deeper, growls as Will parts him and the jut of his hips settles behind Hannibal's thighs, his cockhead presses against Hannibal's prostate, still-sensitive.

Will is growling, weak sounds that bely the tremulous roll of his shoulders, the careful jutter-stall of his hips that are only kept back by Hannibal's grip on him. He kisses Hannibal's throat, licks up the sheen of sweat.

Laughs, weakly; "Going to use me all night, Doctor Lecter?"

Hannibal smiles, tilts his head to meet Will's dark eyes. He pets through Will's hair, thumbs over the light red marks of his belt, and kisses him.

"Absolutely," he replies, and Will shivers, rutting against him. He pulls back, to his haunches, fucks in again and Hannibal moans, softly, his entire body singing with pleasure. He won't get hard for some time – Will has his work cut out for him. "If you can last that long."

Will laughs again, sharper now; challenging, chin lifted. "You're a cruel man."

"Complaining, darling?"

Will grins, kisses him, and then suddenly yanks Hannibal down, flatter to the bed. He mounts him, nails under Hannibal's back, and lets out a sharp-sounding, desperate growl. Hannibal wraps his legs around Will's waist, forcing him deeper, harsher with his thrusts. Digs his nails to Will's back, rakes them up through his hair.

Will buries his face to Hannibal's neck. "I like your cruelty," he sighs, and fucks in, _in_ , and _oh_ , he's going to come, he's going to be bad tonight. Hannibal is salivating, and doesn't even pretend to scold or deny him.

"Mm," Hannibal moans, tilts his head and nips Will's neck. "I can tell you're eager for it."

"Yeah _, fuck,_ " Will grunts, digging his nails to Hannibal's hips, shoving his knees below Hannibal's thighs. He slows, huffing, flinches into Hannibal and rubs his forehead on Hannibal's shoulder. "Yeah, I want it. Want you to hurt me."

Hannibal smiles, and pushes Will's head up. "Then earn it," he says, and Will moans, kisses him, and Hannibal swallows down his tight, punched-out snarl, as Will fucks in, fucks deep, comes to a complete stop inside of Hannibal, and comes. He hasn't been allowed to for almost four days, Hannibal has been absolutely merciless in his denial, and Hannibal sighs, feels it leaking out around Will's pulsing cock, feels it stain, and stick.

He smiles, and bites Will's clenched jaw. "Naughty boy," he purrs. Will whines, still-twitching, still sensitive. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

He slides a hand down Will's flank, digs in at his waist. His other hand finds Will's nape, tightens, and Will lets out a soft, desperate sound, sagging down, submitting, slow-melted meat falling from bone as he yields to Hannibal's will.

He slackens his jaw, kisses open-mouthed and soft at Hannibal's neck. "Use me," he whispers. "Like you promised."

Hannibal smiles, and pushes himself upright, forcing Will to pull out, to pull away. Will doesn't go far, though, held fast by Hannibal's hand in his hair.

"That," he says, with the same kind of finality he imagines Michelangelo used, when he first conceptualized David. Will is marble, but underneath is that creature, that design, and Hannibal wants to bring it out. "Sounds like a wonderful idea."


	9. Humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> degradation play + an audience

Hannibal has no interest in degradation. He cannot, _will_ not, call Will derogatory names. Will not call him a 'whore', a 'slut', or anything else that is commonly used for such things. The pet names he does use for Will are sweeter; 'Boy' and 'Darling' – he never wants Will to feel lesser, wants his voice to be as soothing and settling as his hands, even when they claw, and tear.

Will is lovely in pain, and sometimes, Hannibal will admit, he behaves more as a beast than a man, especially when the lights are low and they move and slide together like unevolved things, but even then, Will is as beautiful and capable as Hannibal; his equal, in all things, in his submission, in his control.

But he cannot do that.

Will, of course, is ever-resourceful when it comes to getting what he wants. He tells Hannibal of people he met in an online forum, a group who would be willing to watch, to do the degrading on Hannibal's behalf.

Hannibal, in an attempt to always be honest with Will when it comes to dangerous games, had said; "I fear my fridge isn't large enough to stock every person who calls you names."

And Will had smiled, anticipatory. "How many, then?"

A surprise.

Hannibal's lips pursed. "Two," he had said. "Maybe three, if they're small."

Will's smile had been so wide, so eager. Hannibal cannot remember much of that night, only that Will had opened for him many times, and Hannibal's neck still bears bruises from his mouth.

And so it has come to this; a man, Hannibal's size and height, with two women – his wife, he introduces as Olivia, and she has long fake-blonde hair and the softest hands Hannibal has ever touched. She is sweet and wide-eyed and reminds Hannibal of willows and long grass. The man's girlfriend, Sarah, is shorter than her, coming barely to Hannibal's chest, and her hair is long as well, browner, her skin tanned, and she preens like a sunning lioness. The man introduces himself as Mike and shakes Hannibal's hand firmly, has the bearing of military and a smile that could light up a room for how bright it is.

They rented a hotel room for this, since Hannibal did not want them in his home. Does not want the walls to hold the words they will say to Will. Will said he had discussed this with them, told them exactly what he wanted from the scene – Hannibal will admit, Mike bears himself with calm assurance, as though he has done this many times before.

"So you must be Will," Sarah says when she sees him. Will smiles at her, and nods. "Well, aren't you just beautiful." She looks at Hannibal. "Isn't he?"

"He is," Hannibal murmurs, genuine, soft.

There's a single moment, a pause where Will's eyes meet Hannibal's, and then Olivia steps up to Will, tips to her toes to whisper in his ear; "This nice man just paid you a compliment, darlin'." She does not say 'darling' like Hannibal does; her voice is middle-south drawl, hissed as one might when there's a knife to your belly and a demand for your wallet. Will shivers, swallows. "You should say 'Thank you'."

"Th-thank you," Will says. His eyes are all-black. Hannibal can smell, can see, his arousal.

Olivia grins, and looks back at her husband. "That wasn't very convincing, was it?" she asks. Mike huffs, falsely disappointed, and Will turns, looks up at him, blinking like he's just noticed there are two men in the room, larger and more powerful than he is.

"I'm sorry, I -."

"He's got the right idea," Mike says. None of them are touching Will, or Hannibal, which is good – Hannibal might snap their necks just for trying. He wonders if Will told them, or this comes from their own experience. Will flinches when Mike lifts a hand, though he only strokes the corner of his own mouth with his thumb, smile wide and wolfish. "I know I like it when a pretty boy uses his mouth as a 'Thanks'."

Will gasps, his eyes wide, and Sarah hums, still standing by Hannibal. She tilts her head.

"Well, _darlin'_?" Olivia whispers. "What's it gonna be?"

Will swallows, wipes his hand over the back of his neck, and eyes Hannibal. Sarah does not touch Hannibal, but she subtly shifts her weight to behind his shoulder, making him subconsciously want to take a step forward. It puts him right against Will, and Will shivers, swallows.

Hannibal tilts his head, brings a hand up to fist in Will's lovely curls. Will's eyes flash, his lips part, and Hannibal smiles.

"Get on your knees," he says.

Will drops like he was pushed, catching himself on Hannibal's thighs for balance. Olivia grins, delighted, and steps back to give them room. So, too, Sarah goes to flank her husband, so they can all watch.

Hannibal tilts Will's head back, so he can see his eyes – needs to see Will's consent, his eagerness, before he can continue. Will parts his lips, runs his hands down Hannibal's thighs, tightens them just above his knees. He offers a smile, faint, but definitely there.

Hannibal nods to himself, and then tightens his hand and forces Will's face against his cock. He's half-hard, only so aroused by Will's presence, not by the situation. But Will shivers, his breath warm and his lips parting, widely, to mouth at Hannibal through his slacks, and Hannibal growls as he feels himself start to fill.

"That's it," Mike growls, as Will's shaking hands undo Hannibal's pants and pull the halves apart, and he coaxes Hannibal's cock out through his underwear. "Take him all in, you little slut. Get him hard."

Hannibal jaw clenches, his stomach rolling with anger at hearing Mike speak to Will so disrespectfully. But Will obeys, parting his jaws wide and sucking Hannibal's half-hard cock all the way into his mouth. Hannibal growls, tugs on Will's hair just to hear him gasp, see his lashes flutter and his nostrils flare. He sucks on Hannibal harshly, hands on his thighs to push him as deep as possible.

"Look at him, taking it like a Goddamn whore," Olivia murmurs. She's less aggressive than Mike, but the words make Hannibal want to snarl. He tugs on Will's hair instead, knowing his lover likes the pain. Will can take it – and more than that, he wants it.

Will tightens his lips around Hannibal, pulling back as Hannibal hardens further. Hannibal breathes out, slowly, tries to tune out their audience and instead focus on the tight, wet heat of Will around him. Through their time together, Will has become exceptionally good at using his mouth. Hannibal wants to praise him, wants to compliment him, wants to soothe the harsh words away with gentle touches.

But that's not the game.

Sarah lets out a cruel, harsh laugh. "Can't even get him hard," she says archly, folding her arms. "He's pretty, but he's not very good."

Will whines, lifts his gaze to Hannibal, and Hannibal clenches his hands, both of them, in Will's hair. Pets it back from his face and closes his eyes as Will takes him all the way in again. It's difficult, despite the pleasant stimulation. Hannibal feels, more than arousal, sharp anger coiling in his belly. He thinks of smearing red on Will's cheeks, of fucking his mouth when it's full of blood.

His cock twitches, and Will moans. Hannibal opens his eyes, catches Will's gaze. Sees his eyes dark, shining. Watches as he tilts his head and buries his face, throat spasming as Hannibal's cockhead hits the back of it.

When he pulls back, Will meets his gaze again. His cheeks have turned red from humiliation, and Hannibal growls, forcing Will back down on him. Will chokes, whining, and Hannibal lets out another rough sound.

"Oh, good," Sarah says, thick with fake praise. "He's figuring it out."

Mike laughs. "Even whores can learn."

"If a hole is wet and tight enough, it'll work," Olivia says crisply. Will swallows around his cock, takes it when Hannibal thrusts into his mouth again. His fingers dig into Hannibal's legs, urging him on. But it's not the words that Hannibal is hearing, it's not the tightness of Will's mouth he's reacting to.

He sees Will's eyes, and sees Will is not getting off on being degraded. He's getting off on Hannibal's reaction, his rage.

"That's it," Mike says, snarling when Hannibal starts an even pace in Will's mouth. "Use that slut's hole. He's just gonna kneel there and take it."

"Fuck him deeper."

Hannibal does.

"Make the little bitch choke."

Will whimpers, swallowing, his abused throat spasming around Hannibal's cock. Hannibal tightens his hands, digs his nails into Will's scalp. Will moans, tilting his head, trying to take Hannibal deeper. Hannibal fucks in as deeply as he can, holds Will there, and comes with a low snarl into his mouth.

"Oh, what a good little slut," Olivia breathes.

"Take it all," Sarah says. "Don't waste a drop."

Hannibal pulls back and Will gasps, breathing harshly. He wipes a hand across his mouth, swallowing once, and looks up at Hannibal with a wide, teasing grin. Hannibal cannot resist smiling, seeing him so clearly pleased.

Will stands, purring and fine, and Hannibal tucks himself back into his suit pants. Will wipes his mouth again, and turns to their audience. They are smiling, and Will nods to them. "Thank you," he says, his voice hoarse.

Sarah winks. "It was our pleasure."

Will grins.

"You may use this room, if you'd like," Hannibal tells them, and gestures to the bed. "We won't be needing it."

"What a kind offer," Olivia says, smiling. "Thanks."

Hannibal nods, and takes Will's hand. They didn't bring anything with them. Hannibal leaves the room key by the door and takes Will outside, and when the door closes, he gathers Will close to him, tucks his face to Will's neck and presses him flat against the opposite wall.

Will hums, smiling, and kisses Hannibal's cheek. "Thank you for doing that for me."

Hannibal nods, lifts his head and cups Will's face, kissing him deeply. He growls when they part. "The way they spoke to you was unforgiveable."

Will's eyes flash, his head tilts. Testing; "It was part of the scene," he says. "They did exactly what I wanted."

"Still," Hannibal says, heavy with finality.

Will smiles at him, slow and wide. "Will they fit in your stores, Hannibal?"

"I believe they will," Hannibal replies, a purr. Will smiles at him. "But we will let them have their fun, first." He turns his head, eyes the door. Softly, sounds of pleasure can already be heard from within.

"Meat is sweetest just after sex."


	10. Daddy Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda cheated with this one and reworked an old chapter of a different fic, but I think it works for this. Honestly imo I can never top 'Unexpected Delight's Daddy!kink so, you know, gotta do what ya gotta do.

Will wakes to soft touches, Hannibal sliding close to him, below sheets, nuzzling at his shoulder. Hannibal's hands are warm and wide, one on his hip, the other curled beneath Will's chest to splay gently on his stomach.

"Mornin'," he breathes.

Hannibal lets out a low rumble, nuzzling Will's curls, still damp from the shower the night before. He subtly pushes a thigh between Will's legs and Will, smiling, allows himself to be rolled to his belly. He moans as Hannibal covers him, bare cock rutting against the small of his back.

"You're in a good mood," Will notes, and sighs when Hannibal merely grinds his hips against Will's in answer.

Hannibal gives a soft huff, lips parting wide on the back of Will's neck. Will shivers, skin pebbling with goose bumps, and subtly lifts his hips, giving Hannibal something to rut against. His hands flatten, slide beneath the pillows, braced and ready.

They're both unclothed, preferring the cling of sweat on skin, the warmth of each other during the night. It started with bedclothes, then no shirts, then, finally, barriers totally removed so they can envelope and warm each other when the air gets cold.

Will sighs, then tenses up with a hiss when Hannibal slides back, spreads his ass apart and puts his mouth right over Will's hole, licking a broad stripe across his rim and letting his tongue sink in just a little. Will bites his lower lip, fingers going tight in the sheets by his head and pulling down as Hannibal continues to lick at him, humming softly when he feels the muscle start to loosen, breath hitching when Hannibal licks at him again. Hannibal spits on Will's hole and lets go with one hand to rub his finger against Will's rim, working the slick inside.

His body is relaxed and knows this game well and he lets the tip of one of Hannibal's fingers in with another soft exhale when Hannibal pushes it in, but then Hannibal takes it out again and goes back to using his mouth, working his tongue where his finger just was until Will gives a breathless little whine.

His hips jerk up, cock starting to harden under Hannibal's careful attention. Hannibal smiles, humming in satisfaction, and licks over Will again, forcing his tongue as deep as Will's ass will let him go, before he pulls back and starts to work in his finger again.

Will shivers. "You want me just like this?" he asks.

He feels Hannibal growl. "Yes," Hannibal says, his voice rough. "Be still, and let me."

Will sighs, going lax as Hannibal continues to lick at him, giving the occasional test with his finger to see if Will is loose enough. He trembles, thighs spreading, cock hard and rubbing against the bedsheets. He whimpers when Hannibal straightens, kissing up his spine, and puts a hand in Will's hair, his leaking cockhead brushing Will's hole.

Hannibal lets out another low curse and sinks his finger in a little more deeply, to the second knuckle. He tugs on Will's rim and Will gasps, his back flexing under Hannibal's mouth and his hips rising to the pull. Hannibal growls, and opens his mouth wide to bite down just shy of Will's shoulder. It makes Will gasp and whine.

Hannibal pulls back just long enough to spit onto Will's hole again, working in the slick with his finger until he can push it all the way inside. Will moans, fully hard now at the promise of what Hannibal might do to him. In Hannibal's silence, Will's imagination runs wild.

"Hannibal?" he whispers.

Hannibal hums, withdrawing his finger, and reaches for the bottle of lubricant sitting on their bedside table. He wets his fingers quickly and returns his touch to Will's hole, two fingers sinking in and spreading him.

Will turns his head, sees Hannibal's eyes wild and dark, his breathing heavy and cheeks stained with arousal. Hannibal smiles, gaze raking ravenous down Will's back. Will doesn't move, he knows Hannibal told him to stay and be still. After another moment Hannibal's smile widens, pleased, and he withdraws his fingers, and bends down to reach into the bottom drawer as well – where they keep the toys.

He climbs back onto the bed and Will sees he's holding a cockring. He bites his lip and whines, and Hannibal smirks at him.

"Don't worry, darling," he says, leaning down and petting through Will's hair. He gives it a light tug and Will's eyelids flutter closed and he lifts his head for a kiss. "I will be wearing this."

Will moans, roughly, trembling at the words. Hannibal laughs and kisses him. He allows Will a moment for his greedy eyes to take in the sight of his lover. Hannibal's chest is red from heat and excitement, his eyes bright, his cock fully hard and a deep, deep red.

He opens the lube and squeezes a little onto his fingers, before he wraps it around his own cock. Will's mouth goes dry, watching Hannibal's strong hand wrap around his cock and give it a few slow, tight strokes. It's red and leaking and Will wants to taste it.

He bites his lip and tightens his hands, hips rolling down onto the mattress. Hannibal notices – his sharp eyes go to the motion and he lets out a rough, low noise. Then he grabs the cockring and carefully wraps it around the base of his cock and behind his balls, fastening it with a soft 'click'. Will whimpers.

Hannibal smirks at him and climbs back onto the bed. He pushes at Will's thighs and Will spreads his legs as much as he can. Hannibal kneels on the fabric and spreads Will's ass again.

"Such a sweet boy," he whispers, before bending down and licking over Will's slick, loosened rim again. Will starts to shake, his breathing unsteady. He never manages to keep his composure when Hannibal talks like that. Hannibal growls and nips lightly at his rim and Will gasps. Hannibal squeezes his cheeks tightly, and then his lube-slick finger starts to press in next to his tongue and Will moans,  _loudly_.

" _Fuck_ , Hannibal, God…" He grits his teeth when Hannibal forces his finger in. He's shaking and impatient already, needing more than Hannibal is giving him. Wants to snarl, demand to know what game this is – but he keeps his tongue in check. Hannibal growls against his rim, curling his finger down and rubbing it so that it feels like he's rubbing at the base of Will's cock and Will whimpers, hips trying desperately to keep still.

Hannibal pulls his mouth away and instead starts to work in a second finger. He shoves it in as deep as he can, sharply enough that it pulls a whine from Will's throat. Will can feel Hannibal's cock twitch against his thighs at every sound he makes.

"Hush, darling," he purrs, leaning over and nuzzling Will's name. "I want you to just relax, my sweet, precious boy." He pauses, growls; "You want daddy to take care of you?"

Will moans, has to clench his teeth and his fists as a sharp wave of arousal runs down his spine. "Oh my _God,_ " he growls. "Yes, yes daddy, take care of me. I'll be good."

Hannibal pulls his fingers out and Will lets out a plaintive noise. "Put your hips on a pillow and lay back down for me."

Will obeys, grabbing one of the pillows and placing it in the center of the bed, before he lays down on his stomach again, hissing at the feeling of the soft pillow's give against his cock. Hannibal's fingers gently brush over Will's slick hole.

Will whines. "Have you ever let a man touch you here before?" Hannibal asks. Will gasps, arousal sparking low in his stomach as he trembles, thinks of Hannibal being his first, thinks of himself being untouched, unspoiled snow for Hannibal's marks, his teeth, his seed.

Will shakes his head and his shoulders roll as Hannibal's voice arcs down his spine, sending low sparks of arousal through his blood.

Hannibal kisses his shoulder, humming as though in thought. "Such a sweet boy I have," he purrs. "Do you think you can take all of me, darling?" Will swallows, pretends to hesitate, pretends to tremble. "I promise I'll make it good for you. It'll feel so good when daddy's all the way inside you."

Will swallows back a thick moan. He knows, of course Hannibal knows, but the thought that Will might be untouched, might be trying his best to take whatever Hannibal decides to give him in his virgin hole – well, it's lighting up something in his brain he definitely never expected to be there.

"I -. I wanna try, Daddy," Will says, trying to sound as innocent and sweet as he can. From the way he can feel Hannibal shudder against him, he's sure that it's working. Just as Hannibal had with him, Will is clearly pinging  _whatever_  has gotten into Hannibal today and he's determined to keep going because this might be the most turned on he's been in a long time.

Hannibal snarls quietly and sinks one finger slowly into Will, moaning when Will parts for him with a low, wanting noise. "Daddy, please," Will breathes, nodding his head.

Hannibal lets out another rough sound and pulls his finger out of Will. Will hears him open the lube bottle again and slick himself up, angling himself to Will's hole. Will clenches, whining, pretends to fight, pretends to be afraid.

Hannibal presses himself to Will's back, breathes in deeply and kisses Will's sweaty throat. "Relax," he coaxes. Will's shoulders tense. "I promise it'll feel good."

His voice is gentle, coaxing, and altogether wrecked with arousal. He's breathing as heavily as Will is, steadier but affected all the same.

"It's big," Will complains, weakly.

"You trust me, don't you?" Hannibal asks, stroking his hand up Will's spine. Will nods.

Hannibal snarls, edges his teeth to Will's spine, but gentles them before he can bite.

"I'm so lucky to have such a sweet boy," Hannibal growls, and then Will whines as he feels the tip of his cock pressing against Will's rim. Will's body doesn't know the game, doesn't understand – it accepts Hannibal easily and both of them let out low sounds of arousal as Hannibal sinks all the way inside of Will.

"Daddy…" Will whines when Hannibal grazes his prostate. His free hand is clenched tightly on the outside of Will's thigh, holding him still while Hannibal works himself in. It feels too fucking good, Will's going to come but he wants to keep playing. He makes another low, distressed-sounding noise and his hips jerk when Hannibal's cockhead rubs against his prostate again. "Daddy, I…I'm gonna -."

"It's okay, darling," Hannibal purrs. "Are you going to come for me?" He's predatory, and Will nods. "Mm, that will help you relax. My good boy, show me how good it feels when daddy touches you."

Will trembles and his orgasm drags out of him almost on command. He fucks against the pillow, only vaguely aware of the fabric at the head of his cock, and spills slick and hot over the pillow and his stomach. Hannibal doesn't stop, doesn't withdraw from him and Will gasps, flinching as his sensitive body twinges at each touch.

He whines, fists a hand in his hair. "Daddy," he whimpers. "Hurts."

"It's okay, darling," Hannibal purrs, nuzzling Will's sweaty hair. His hand leaves Will's hip, takes Will's hand and presses both to the mattress. He ruts his cock in, he's so hard, he fills Will so well. Will moans, unable to help himself, and lifts his hips into the gentle thrusts. "You looked so beautiful like that, I can't believe what a good, sweet boy I have."

Will gasps and tilts his head so that Hannibal will kiss him. Hannibal smiles against his mouth, kisses him deeply.

"Daddy, please," he whispers. "I want -. I want -."

Hannibal pulls back, meets Will's eyes. Cups his face with such tenderness. Will's cheeks burn, he licks his sore lips.

Bows his head, arches. "Will you make a mess in me, daddy?"

Hannibal snarls, pulls back and fucks in with punishing force. Will lets out a sound almost like a sob, relieved and desperate all at once. He trembles when Hannibal growls. "That's it, sweet thing," he says, nuzzling Will's hair. "You're doing such a good job, darling, so good for your first time."

Will nods, whimpering as though shaky and unsure. He turns his head and licks his lips. "I trust you, daddy," he says.

 _That_ does it. Hannibal lets out a low sound unlike Will's heard him make before. He pulls back and sinks inside, hips rolling when he's all the way in to help stretch and relax Will's hole for him. Will groans, moving against him as much as he can, pinned as he is, and Hannibal growls quietly again.

He pulls back and fucks in a little more harshly, driving Will's breath from his lungs. He does it again, and again, until he's built up a rhythm and the sounds of his cock splitting Will apart, the rough slide of sheets brushing against skin, the sound of Hannibal's hips connecting with Will's ass, fill the room as Hannibal starts to fuck him in earnest.

Hannibal lets go of him and plants his hands on the bed, sinking to his elbows as he ruts against Will's ass, low growls against Will's neck. Will tilts his head to bare his nape and Hannibal bites him there. His hands slide under Will's chest, forcing Will to take all of his weight, and he rubs his fingers over Will's nipples.

"Mm,  _f_  -." Will swallows, gasping heavily.

"How does that feel, my sweet boy?" Hannibal says.

Will whines. "You feel so good in me," he breathes. Hannibal lets out a low growl, fucking in a little more harshly, showing Will how much this is affecting him. Will is sure Hannibal put on the cockring more for himself than to torture Will – from the sounds he's making and the way he's moving against Will so desperately, Will can imagine it's taking everything in Hannibal not to come inside of him right now, or to have waited this long in the first place.

"Does it?" Hannibal asks, stuttering. "Tell me."

Will smiles, lets his voice get high, slurring; "Your cock feels so big, I –. I feel like it can barely fit, like you're forcin' it to." Hannibal lets out a weak sound, his cock twitching inside of Will when he presses in and goes still. "Makes me feel so full, daddy."

" _Will_ ," Hannibal gasps, pressing his forehead against Will's hair. He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and starts to thrust again. "I'd like you to make another mess," Hannibal says. "You think you can do that for me, my beautiful boy?"

Will nods again. "Yes, daddy," he replies, and Hannibal trembles behind him. He pulls his hands away from Will's nipples and plants them on his back, rearing up so that he can fuck into Will with a little more force. Each thrust makes the bed creak and groan in protest, and Will can barely get any air into his weak lungs before Hannibal fucks it out of him again.

Hannibal growls lowly and pulls out and Will's breath leaves him in a sharp cry. Hannibal hauls him upright. "Turn around, darling," he says, and Will goes sluggishly, too aroused to move as quickly as normal, and Hannibal tugs him into his lap so that they can see each other. Will's hands instinctively go around Hannibal's shoulders and grip tight and Hannibal lifts him just enough that he can grab his cock and push it against Will's hole, letting him sink back down.

They both let out ragged moans and Hannibal kisses him, pressing him down onto the bed and fucking into him deeply. Hannibal puts his hands behind Will's thighs, forces Will to bend almost in half, his knees pressed to his chest so that Hannibal can fuck as deeply and forcefully into him as he can.

Hannibal can't stop kissing him and Will doesn't want him to. When they're out of air Hannibal simply holds their mouths together, his thumbs digging into the backs of Will's knees and his hands spread out wide on his thighs. Will gasps, and reaches down to wrap a hand around his cock and stroke in time with Hannibal's desperate thrusts.

Will whines, his hand going tight on the head of his cock as Hannibal fucks against his prostate and stays there, letting Will rut and work his hips to get the pressure he needs to come. He meets Hannibal's eyes, sees them wild, and dark. He comes with a quiet whimper, spilling over his hand and his chest and Hannibal's eyes fall to it, his mouth open like he wants to lean down and lick it up.

He pulls out again and hauls Will up to another kiss. "You made such a mess, darling," he says, as though disappointed.

Will lets out a low whine. "If you do it in me, I'll make sure nothing comes out," he replies. "I'll clean it up, daddy, I promise."

Hannibal's eyes flash, pleased and aroused beyond belief that Will is fitting into this role so well. He smiles. "That's a good idea, sweetheart," he murmurs. "There will be a lot, though. Daddy hasn't gotten to come in a long time."

"I'll keep it in," Will says, making his eyes wide and his voice sweet. He reaches out and pets his hands down Hannibal's bare chest. "Please, daddy? I'll be good."

"Oh, I'm sure," Hannibal replies, dark and low. His eyes rake down Will's body greedily – he's thoroughly ruined Will already. Hannibal smiles and prowls over him, pressing him back onto the bed. "Roll over," he commands, and Will bites his lip and nods, moving so that he's on his stomach again. "Elbows and knees, like this." Hannibal grabs his hips and helps him lift up so he's on his hands and knees, and then Will sinks to his elbows, back bowed and ass lifted into the air as though in offering.

"Perfect, just like that," Hannibal whispers, his hands sliding gently up Will's flanks. Then he lets go and Will's breath catches when he hears the  _snap_  of the cockring being undone and tossed to the floor. Hannibal is going to fuck him, Hannibal is going to  _come in him_ , and Will can't wait. His ass is sore and his body is wrecked from its orgasms and he won't get it up again but he  _needs_ Hannibal to fuck him and fill him up.

He keeps Will still there for a moment longer, and then kneels in place between Will's legs. Will's breath hitches and he moves back, and Hannibal presses his cockhead against Will's hole and Will shoves back as quickly as he dares, taking all of Hannibal back inside of him in one smooth thrust.

They both let out explosive breaths and Hannibal trembles, leaning over Will and biting at his shoulders. He puts his hands on the bed and kneels up so that he's crouched behind Will and this way he can reach Will's ear, his jaw, his neck. He bites at Will's neck as he starts to fuck in, harsh and desperate and chasing his orgasm like a wolf for its kill.

" _Will_ ," he snarls, and puts a hand in Will's hair. Will gasps.

"Please, daddy," he whispers. Goes for the kill: "Please. Make a mess in me. I want to feel you – you're so  _deep_ …"

A low curse escapes Hannibal, and he tugs on Will's hair until Will tilts his head forward and Hannibal bites the back of his nape,  _hard_ , earning a whine from Will as he fucks in hard enough to make Will's thighs shake, his shoulders tense, and then he's coming with a low snarl, emptying himself inside Will's body. "Oh,  _Will_." Hannibal presses his cock deep inside of Will, twitching with each new load he spills, and they're both shaking and sweaty and Will's heart is racing.

Hannibal lets go of his hair and pulls his mouth from Will's sore neck with a low sigh. He puts his knees back onto the mattress and his hands flatten on Will's ass, forcing him forward so that Hannibal can pull out. Will winces, sore despite himself, and whimpers when Hannibal keeps him spread open so that a single, thick line of come leaks out.

Hannibal hums and leans down, licking the line up to his rim, feeding it back inside of him. Will whimpers, gut clenching, and then Hannibal comes into his line of vision and he tugs Will up for a kiss. The kiss tastes like his come and Will growls softly.

"Fuck," Will breathes, grinning and running a hand through his hair. Hannibal lets out a soft huff of laughter, and lets Will curl up against Hannibal when Hannibal props himself against the headboard to catch his breath. His head is on Hannibal's shoulder and Hannibal instinctively lifts his hand to pet through Will's hair. Will laughs. "That was…. Holy shit."

Hannibal hums, pleased and purring. Will has no idea what got into him today, but he certainly won't complain. He lifts his head, kisses his lover deeply, pleased when Hannibal cups his face, licks into his mouth, not shy with sharing the taste of himself between them.

They pull apart, and Will takes in Hannibal's dark eyes, his wide smile. "Daddy kink, huh?"

Hannibal laughs, but he's not ashamed. "An indulgence," he replies, eyes shining. He looks so _good_ when he's just fucked, but maybe Will is biased.

"You should indulge more often," Will says, purring, and settles down at his lover's side.

Hannibal smiles, holds Will close, and kisses his forehead. "I'll keep that in mind."


	11. Master & Slave

The chair is an old favorite for both of them. It is flat in the seat, with armrests not quite high enough to be comfortable, but enough that, should they wish it, wrists can be bound and still give room to tug, to pretend to struggle. Its legs are slim but sturdy, allowing the same. It has no back, so that whoever is sitting on it may lean as far back as necessary.

When Hannibal sees it, placed at the head of the table instead of his own normal chair, he smiles.

He goes to the bedroom and strips immediately, each item of clothing carefully folded and put away. He washes his face, and his hands, and journeys downstairs.

Will is in the dining room when he returns, relaxed, somewhat slouched in his normal place at the left side of the head of the table. Hannibal comes to a halt just past the threshold, and stands, one hand holding his other wrist behind his back.

Will tilts his head, doesn't look at him, but to think he's unaware of Hannibal's presence would be foolish.

Will hums, works the side of his thumbnail to the corner of his mouth like he's wiping away something sticky. "Red," he tells Hannibal. "Something sweet."

Hannibal bows his head, and walks to the kitchen, a smile on his face as he goes to the pantry and picks out a bottle for Will. Will's control is a decadent treat at the best of times, leaving Hannibal salivating for whenever it comes out, but when the chair is involved, and Hannibal is undressed and Will uses his home and himself like he's the master of all of it, well.

He's already burning.

He opens a bottle of red and pours it through an aerator, mourning the fact that Will's abrupt plan hadn't given him time to really let it breathe. It smells good, though, and the decanter will allow it exposure to the air enough to keep the flavor rich. He takes two glasses and pours them each one, cradles the glasses at the stem, and walks back to the kitchen.

He steps up close to Will and Will looks up, lifts his hand to accept the glass. He doesn't lean forward, doesn't move except to take, forcing Hannibal to lean over the corner of the table, the edge of his seat. Will's way of exercising his control has always been subtle, like that – he can be rough, of course, and demanding, but oftentimes it is his complete inaction, forcing Hannibal to compensate and fill in the blanks, that truly takes Hannibal's breath away.

He straightens, holding his own glass, while Will brings it to his nose, breathes in. Takes a sip.

He sighs, and nods. "It's good," he says.

Hannibal smiles.

"Sit."

Hannibal obeys. He should start dinner – it was his intention, before seeing the chair. And he still might, if Will orders him to. The presence of the chair is not implicitly sexual, for them; merely denotes, for whoever it was placed for, that they will be silent, and sweet, and do what their master tells them.

Hannibal sets his glass down in front of him, but does not drink. Will takes another sip of his wine, gives another small huff of pleasure, and then looks to Hannibal.

Raises an eyebrow.

Hannibal smiles.

"You may drink," Will says, and Hannibal gives him another gracious nod in thanks, before he takes his glass in hand and drinks from it. It's sweeter than he normally likes, and is not what he would have paired tonight's meal with, but it's pleasant enough. He has done far worse to satisfy Will's tastes.

Will huffs, like he knows what Hannibal is thinking.

He meets Hannibal's eyes. "What's for dinner?"

"Pork," Hannibal replies. "The traditional kind."

Will smiles, lopsided, dimpling his cheeks. His eyes drop, and his head tilts when they settle on Hannibal's neck. He rubs the corner of his mouth with his thumb again, and makes a soft, thoughtful sound.

"Did I interrupt?" he asks.

"Of course not," Hannibal replies with a shake of his head. Of course not – Will's presence, his designs, are always welcome.

Hannibal regards him. He can see tension in Will's shoulders, eyes the way he rubs his mouth again, then down over his jaw. He does that when he's anxious. Hannibal isn't allowed to ask questions, when they're like this – it's probably why Will pre-emptively brought the chair out. So Hannibal wouldn't ask, wouldn't draw attention to it.

He takes another drink when Will does.

"I'm not particularly hungry," Will says.

Hannibal nods.

Will swallows, his fingers tightening around the stem of the glass, then releasing. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Hannibal tilts his head, but keeps his eyes down. "I'm waiting for you to tell me how to help you."

"Help me," Will repeats, cutting. It's not a question.

Hannibal nods.

And Will sighs. He knows it's no use hiding from Hannibal, even if he wanted to. Their relationship is an open book with each other, the give and take as easy to anticipate and accommodate as anything else natural.

Will takes another drink, and then sets the glass down, and pushes his chair out. Hannibal straightens, at attention; ready. Will stands slowly, like he's sore and aching. Hannibal resists the urge to ask if he's alright, if he's been injured.

Will circles the table and comes around the back of Hannibal's chair. His knuckles brush down both sides of his face, cupping Hannibal's jaw, and tilts his head up so Will can kiss his forehead.

He sighs, warm, his tough gentle. His voice, when it comes, is low and sweet, despite the words;

"I want to tie you up," he says. "And I want to fuck you until you're begging me to stop."

Hannibal shivers, swallowing harshly as Will brings his mouth to Hannibal's ear, kisses the arch of it – then, lower, over the warmly-flushed, exposed skin of his neck.

"I want it to hurt," he growls.

Hannibal flattens his hands on the table on either side of his wine glass, and turns his cheek to Will's, feels his lips, warm and chapped, brush over Hannibal's jaw. Will presses up tight to his back, cradles his throat, digs his thumbs under the corner of Hannibal's jaw.

Will's lips touch his forehead again, so gentle, and Hannibal swallows. "When I'm finished," Will says, and his voice is shaking and Hannibal aches to stand, aches to embrace him and kiss him and give Will anything and everything he desires. "You may prepare our meal."

Hannibal nods, and Will withdraws, allowing him to stand. Will does not smile, but the light in his eyes is eager, is relieved, to see Hannibal so willing. Hannibal smiles, fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and touch Will, but he resists.

Will turns, gathering his wine glass, and leads the way out of the dining room.

Hannibal follows.


	12. Hair Pulling

Will is whimpering, his face a mask of pain as Hannibal's hand tightens in his hair, hauls him up from the chaotic sprawl he'd taken, hands and knees, when Hannibal threw him to the floor.

He goes, growling as Hannibal jerks his head, forcing him to expose his throat for Hannibal's teeth. He bites down, forces one of Will's legs up and bends him over the end of the bed, spreads him and pushes his cock back inside. Will is wet and sore, trembling as Hannibal fucks into him, and gives a harsh, needy sound when he pushes all the way inside.

He grabs Will's hair again, forces him upright, an unsteady balance on one foot and his knee that puts his weight against Hannibal. He reaches back, grabbing for purchase, and Hannibal snarls, biting him again, shifting his grip on Will's hair so he's grabbing where it's longest, at the top of his head, forcing him to arch back further.

"Please," Will gasps. He's a mess of bites, of sweat, slick to the touch as Hannibal fucks him, digs his nails into Will's thigh to keep him still. Hannibal growls, jerks his hand in Will's hair, relishes the spasm of his abused muscles and the greedy intake of his breath.

Hannibal has already left a mess inside him, it's slick and obscene, leaking out around his cock and he growls, dragging his nails up Will's thigh, wraps his fingers around his cock and strokes mercilessly. Will trembles, collapses against his chest, he's trying to fuck back but there's no leverage with how he's positioned and Hannibal, suddenly, hates that.

He pulls out and grabs Will's hair, throws him down onto his hands and knees again and falls behind him, back to chest, rutting beast-like between Will's thighs. Will moans, tries to spread his legs but Hannibal growls, bites his shoulder, tugs on his hair again.

"Keep your legs together," he commands, and Will whimpers, tries to nod – can't, with how tightly Hannibal is holding him. His thighs close and Hannibal lets out a soft, graceless noise, pushing his cock between them until he knows the skin will be pink and sore; chafed. Will won't walk right by the end of this, if he has anything to say about it.

Will bows to his elbows, holds himself steady and strong as Hannibal fucks between his thighs, savoring the cling of sweet, sweaty skin; the taste of Will under his tongue; the way he whines and flinches whenever Hannibal tugs on his hair.

He wraps a hand around Will's cock, strokes tight and quick, and Will is trembling – close, his breath always hitches like that when he's close.

"Good boy," Hannibal growls, sinks his teeth into Will's neck and shudders when Will whimpers, when he flinches, back rubbing against Hannibal's exposed chest. His cockhead is rutting against the bottom of Will's, feels the slick drag of his own knuckles when he tightens them around the base.

"Please," Will whispers, gasping. "Please, I want -."

Hannibal tugs on his hair and Will is forced silent.

He whines.

Hannibal pulls back, and the sound Will makes is both outraged and desperate. He snarls, baring teeth in a smile, and forces Will to turn, to splay out on his back. His legs spread as if commanded to and Hannibal falls across him, forces himself back inside his sweet boy, tugs on his hair until Will's neck is exposed.

He fucks in, forces Will's thighs in a very wide, decadent spread. Oh, the distractions Will holds, in every inch of him; his hands, which are clawed and rake over Hannibal's back, urging him onward; his neck, so sweet and red like the finest cut of meat; his bright, lust-blackened eyes; the curl of his hair as Hannibal brings his mouth under Will's ear and bites down.

He wraps his knuckles in Will's hair, pulls until Will is arching, chest heaving and braced against Hannibal's, burned by carpet and hair. His thighs cling to Hannibal's hips, his heels digging in behind his knees. The wet leaking from the head of his cock smears between them and he spasms, tightening, when Hannibal finds his prostate.

"There you are," Hannibal snarls, free hand kept tight on Will's hip, keeping him down. He moves over Will like a man possessed and Will, well, Will is writhing for him, arching up as best he can, desperate with each flex of his fingers and each gasp worked from his bitten throat. Hannibal rears up, forces their foreheads together so he can taste Will's need. "There's my sweet boy. Are you going to come for me?"

"Yeah -. _Yes_ ," Will whispers, hoarse. His lips are parted, every breath fought for and then given to Hannibal's tongue as he leans down and licks Will's bottom lip. Will trembles, arches, aching, and Hannibal closes his eyes as he feels Will bearing down around him, body so tight and hot and slick.

He comes with a ragged cry of Hannibal's name, hands flying to Hannibal's hair and gripping tight. Hannibal fucks him through it, gives him no relief, no respite. He keeps going until Will is wincing, flinching, until he gasps and lets out a weak moan.

"Please," he gasps, eyes wide. His hands brush Hannibal's neck, his collarbones, press flat to his chest. "Please. Come in me. Fill me up again."

Hannibal growls, tugs on Will's hair until his throat is exposed, and bites down as he finishes, pressed deep into Will's spasming body. Will clings to him, and Hannibal finally lets his hair go, smooths his hand over Will's scalp and down to his neck. He kisses Will, greedily taking all of his hard-won air. Will moans, weakly, but opens his mouth, opens his arms, readily accepting all of Hannibal as Hannibal fills him up.

Hannibal pulls out, wincing at the slight sting of overstimulation, and pulls Will upright. He kisses Will again, soothes warm hands down his rug-burned back, to his hips, rubbing gently at the sore joints. Will sighs, low-lidded, lax, nuzzling Hannibal's sweaty neck.

Hannibal runs a gentle hand through his hair, tugs him back. Will goes, gasping, a wide smile on his face. He meets Hannibal's eyes, and huffs a laugh.

"Round three in the shower?"

Hannibal grins at him, and gets to his feet. He helps Will up, one hand on his arm, the other still in his hair.

"You read my mind."


	13. Biting

Hannibal is dangerous. Will would be a fool to think otherwise. He is, at his core, a predator. The way he moves, the way he artfully charms, charisma and sleek hunter-skill, is a sight to behold. Will had known from the beginning, of course. He has always known that Hannibal is a creature of single-minded intent and many-track thoughts, constantly weighing and reaping reward in all he does.

Hannibal's hands are strong, their grace belying the heaviness they can wield. He can be gentle and harsh with them; can soothe with a single touch, brush loving fingertips and knuckles down Will's face and then claw him to pieces when he reaches Will's neck. He can pull, coax, rip, destroy.

His teeth are dangerous.

His teeth are divine.

And so Will sits, at the mercy of a monster, and shivers as Hannibal parts his jaws, lets his lips slide saliva-wet over pale, sensitive flesh. His muscles are tensed, he can't make them relax until -.

Hannibal bites. Will moans, head tilting back as Hannibal's teeth sink into his thigh. Hannibal's hands – those gentle, utterly destructive hands – are tight around Will's wrists, forcing him to merely sit, obedient. Forcing him to bear Hannibal's teeth.

He feels Hannibal's tongue, feels it lick wide and warm between his bite, bringing skin and tender muscle up, making it flush, making it bruise. He bites down, harsher, and Will always has the thought that this will be it – this bite will part skin, sever muscle. Hannibal will take his pound of flesh and feed it to Will and Will can take it, would take it, as eagerly and sweetly as he takes everything else.

Hannibal relaxes, growling softly, and presses his nose to the welt he left. He can probably smell Will's blood, his arousal, taste the difference in flavor on his tongue. His eyes open, and flash up to Will, and Will shudders, breathless, eager.

Hannibal looks hungry.

"Give me another," he whispers.

Hannibal smiles, showing his teeth, and Will's eyes fall to the mark he just left. It's red, will grow purple soon, and bears an outline of Hannibal's bite, the uneven set of his teeth. Will's thighs shake, and Hannibal leans down, more upwards, where the flesh is tender and soft. He licks over the crease of Will's thigh, growling like a predator about to lunge.

He kisses Will, breathes him in. Will is wearing underwear but his cock is hard, making the fabric strain and bulge obscenely. He wants to touch himself, wants to add the seasoning of his come to his skin for Hannibal to consume.

Can't, with the way Hannibal is holding him. He's on his knees but Will doesn't doubt for a second who's in control of this moment.

Hannibal's jaws part again, and he sucks Will's flesh between his teeth, bites down and Will moans, winces, his other thigh tensed up as it feels like the abused one gives, relaxing into the pain, knowing it cannot fight back. His hands flex under Hannibal's wrists, turn and grab, and Hannibal growls, nostrils flaring, and bites down harder.

 _This_ is it. Will can see it in his mind's eye – the give of his skin, the sweet rush of blood into Hannibal's mouth, staining his lips, his teeth. His chin, if he decides to be sloppy. Sees it, aches for it -.

"Please," he whispers. Hannibal growls, tightens his fingers. "Please. Do it."

Hannibal obeys. Will cries out as his skin gives, as Hannibal bites him hard enough to shed blood. It ricochets up his spine, makes white shine behind his eyes. Makes his teeth snap, entire body tensed with the futile desire to get away, to escape.

Hannibal licks over the wound he dealt, supremely pleased, if the noise he lets out is any indication. He smears the leak of blood down Will's thigh, chasing it with his tongue. Will's legs are a marred canvas of bruises and bites, both old and new – to match the ones on his neck, on his shoulders, down his chest.

Hannibal licks him clean, and straightens as Will sits forward.

Their foreheads touch, noses brush, and Will shivers, tilts his head for a kiss and if Hannibal is surprised by it, he doesn't show it. Will tastes his own blood on Hannibal's lower lip, behind his teeth, sitting wet on his tongue. He licks, he drinks, he tastes.

Hannibal bites him, nips gently, and Will moans.

"Would you like me to keep going?" he purrs.

Will swallows, and nods, trembling as Hannibal lets go of one of his wrists and brushes his thumb tenderly along Will's thigh, over the two newest bites. His hand, now freed, flies to Hannibal's nape, tightens and tugs, and he shivers.

"Do I taste good?"

Hannibal smiles, and kisses him again, before pulling back and taking Will's hand away, settling it in place again. "Oh, darling," he says, very low, his teeth reddened. "I could happily feast on you forever."

Will's cock twitches, he's starting to stain his underwear from how badly he's leaking. He shakes, fingers flexing beneath Hannibal's, and shivers when Hannibal leans down and kisses him through his underwear.

"Bite me again," Will breathes, as Hannibal nudges gently at his other thigh, this one fresher, and forces him to spread.

Hannibal's smile is wolfish; predatory. Utterly proud. "As you wish."


	14. Objectification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, like, kinda bondage?? idk.

It has been hours, it has been days, years – but, no, minutes. Merely minutes. Maybe minutes, hours, _days_... Will has his arms bound behind his back, he's on his knees, blindfolded and balanced carefully on his knees, the balls of his feet, toes straining backwards. His shoulders, hunched over so his spine aches, the small of his back trembling and feeling like it's been removed. His neck, aching, bearing the weight of the collar around his neck. Through the D ring, on the back, ropes have been pulled to force him to remain upright, tied to a knot around his wrists just above the divots in his the small of his back, too high to let him stretch his shoulders, too low to let his biceps relax.

His thighs remain spread, obscenely wide, a bar between his knees and his ankles so the innards of them are screaming, burning. Everything is burning, every tick of the clock a whiplash, every brush of air from the overhead fan feels like nails.

His mouth, covered with the same leather mask he's used on Hannibal before, that doesn't have holes for him to breathe through, just his nose, and they are small, forcing his breathing to remain even. His face is caked in sweat, both dried and new, his breath hot on the inside of the mask until it feels like he's suffocating himself. There are weights, loops around his neck, forcing him to want to bow so that, when he does, the collar chokes him, forces him upright again. He's felt like he's going to collapse from the second they started and it's only gotten worse.

There is a cat's cradle of rope along the back, weights tied to every end, wanting to drag him down to the ground, drag him to submission. The floor is cool, mercifully cool, it would feel so good to press his cheek to it, to rub his sweaty forehead on the hardwood, for even though it makes his knees ache and his feet are tender and sore, he would gladly melt to it to get some relief.

Atop his back, balanced on his shoulders and his bowed head, is a tray. Every now and again the weight shifts on it, and Will knows Hannibal has some food or wine on top of it. When he drinks, the weight moves and Will has to shift to accommodate.

Then, the tray is suddenly gone, and Will gasps.

The air moves, a brush of warmth where there was none. Will doesn't turn his head – he knows better. He sucks in a breath, trembling, and lets out a rough, guttural sound as he feels something – a hand, or a foot maybe, he can't tell without seeing – nudge at one of the weights, making it swing and throwing him into a desperate attempt to regain his balance.

He sucks in a breath, lets it out slowly through his nose, flexes his fingers and forces his thighs to maintain his equilibrium. The rope binding his wrists to his waist pulls tight as he tries to stretch his shoulders, tries to maintain his balance.

He hears a soft noise, like a sigh. Gentle fingers card through his hair, force him to tilt his head up, and Will goes, groaning as he's forced to shift his weight, blood rushing to his sore feet, pins and needles prickling painfully. His hands feel bloodless, his shoulders ache as though bruised. The mask around his face is unbuckled and removed, and then the blindfold.

Will blinks, gasping, and meets Hannibal's eyes.

Hannibal smiles. His eyes are dark, blister-hot as they rake down Will's face, his shaking shoulders. He straightens up and Will whimpers, clenching his eyes tightly shut, gritting his teeth, prepared to endure another unending stretch of not-time where he might strain, and float, and suffer at the whims of his lover.

Hannibal circles him, bends down, digs his nails between the ropes holding the weights over Will's back. He peels them up, slowly, rolls it like a giant net and Will lets out a hoarse, aching sound, as his lower back is freed from the weight, but it builds onto his shoulders as Hannibal slowly rolls it up, until his neck is bearing all of it – but he can't bend forward, lest he choke. Can't rear up, or it will fall.

Hannibal keeps it like this, one finger touching the middle over Will's nape to keep the nets in place. Will growls, open-mouthed, the rest of him so tense that he has no control over his jaw, over his tongue. He's panting, straining, given a second wind at the promise of freedom but it's not coming, it's not, _it's too much_.

Hannibal lifts the net and Will sobs, sagging, collapsing so his thighs hit the bar between his heels and it hurts, everything feels like it's on fire and prickling him, a thousand needles and a thousand whips and he's drunk on it, eyes wet, mouth wet, slack and straining.

Hannibal's leg comes into view and Will whimpers, wants to rub his face against the cool fabric. But he can't, can't make his thighs bear the weight, can't do anything except kneel there and wait. Hannibal's fingers brush through his sweaty hair, another soft, pleased sound falling from his mouth. Will hears him kneel down behind Will, push him back up to his knees and Will groans, aching, wants to beg for mercy, but his mouth isn't working and his tongue feels too heavy.

Hannibal stands, and Will gasps as he feels Hannibal's strong hand wrap around the rope binding his wrists, and his waist. He leans down and kisses Will's weak neck.

"Lean forward," he murmurs. Will groans, weak with relief, as his ankles are relieved of his weight. Hannibal holds him upright, his other hand tugging gently at the rope running down his spine, keeping his neck and chest supported, as Will slides forward, lets Hannibal bring him to rest on the floor. Every inch of Will melts, tension suddenly gone and replaced with cold, harsh relief.

Hannibal lets out another quiet noise, pleased and proud, and carefully undoes the spreader bars around Will's ankles and knees. He allows Will to bring his legs together, strong thumbs and warm hands rubbing at the chafed skin and sore muscles. Will moans, relieved, aching, as Hannibal touches him.

Hannibal straddles his thighs, and begins to undo the ropes around his wrists. He drags them slowly, pulls at the knots with the utmost care, the same way he would unwrap a piece of meat or tuck his fingers in Will's hair – gentle, yet efficient. Will's fingers tingle and flex as blood returns to them and he gives a soft sound of complaint, shivering now as his muscles, unused to the sensation of being relaxed, tremble in the wake of Hannibal's design.

Hannibal hums, leans down, kisses Will's shoulder. He frees one hand and carefully turns Will's arm, places it flat on the floor by his chest, limp and lax. Rubs tenderly at Will's red wrist as his hands tingle and sensation returns.

"Does it hurt, Will?" he asks.

Will groans. He's sure Hannibal can smell his tears, see the shine of them on his cheeks. But he nods, gasping as Hannibal drags his fingers, his palms, his warm and tender touch down Will's forearm, up to his shoulder, massages the tense muscle gently until it gives, and yields, just like the rest of Will does.

Hannibal frees his other wrist, gives his other arm the same treatment, and then carefully undoes the collar from Will's neck, pulling it free and setting it to one side. Will heaves in a large breath, trembling harshly as Hannibal covers him, pulls a blanket from the back of his chair and wraps Will up in it. Will can barely move, and groans as Hannibal hauls him upright. The strength of him is nice, so nice, warms Will up from the inside, and he sighs as Hannibal carries him to the couch, places him gently on the leather cushions which are warm from the nearby fire. Will sighs, limp and without protest, and gives a soft huff of pleasure as Hannibal settles behind him, half on top of him, because he knows how Will likes it when he does that.

Will huffs, turns his head, pushes his nose to Hannibal's cheek. His lips twitch when Hannibal cups his sweaty face, kisses him gently. He gives a soft noise of complaint.

"What is it, darling?" Hannibal murmurs.

Will hums, turns his head again. His eyes close. "Sweaty," he murmurs.

Hannibal smiles, kissing Will's cheek. "Would you like a bath?"

 _Yes_. Will frowns. A bath means moving. He gives another soft, complaining huff, and Hannibal laughs, low and warm, and wraps himself around Will tightly, nuzzling his sweaty hair.

"When you're ready," he says. And he's warm, his voice is warm, the blanket is warm, the fire is warm. Will might just sleep for the next few days and that would be alright by him – anything to leech out the terrible things that follow him home, the nightmares that make his body feel so frantic, so raw. Hannibal weighs him down, grounds him, forces him to think of nothing but physical strain, whites out his mind so that all he has to do is be still, and be.

Hannibal's hand gently strokes over his stomach, through the blanket – Will is too raw, after scenes like this, to touch directly past a swift, initial massage. But Will turns his head, tucks his nose under Hannibal's jaw, and sighs, blissfully aware, and settled. Hannibal gives a soft rumble, leans down and kisses, feather-light, at Will's cheek.

"Sleep, darling," he murmurs, petting over Will's trembling, twitching muscles. Will sighs, and though it takes a Herculean effort, he manages to roll over and bury his face in Hannibal's chest, heaving another contented sigh. He hears Hannibal laugh, feels Hannibal's fingers thread through his hair, and falls asleep to another gentle touch, Hannibal's lips against his forehead.


	15. Impact Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so for those who are familiar with my work, you might have noticed I have a thing for Margot beating the shit out of Will. I just /clenches fist I love it so much. so here we have a similar scene to my fic 'Impatience', where Hannibal teaches Margot how to flog :D (but no sex, of course)

Hannibal doesn't often take Will out to play. He finds the idea of others encroaching on their space uncomfortable, and while he has never had an overwhelmingly negative experience in public or group play, he has never been given an offer enticing enough to actively seek it out, either.

But Alana is different. Hannibal has known her, and Will knows her, very well. They are both comfortable with her and she knows enough about their boundaries not to overstep.

So, when she asks, Hannibal gives it genuine, careful consideration.

"Impact play," Will says.

Hannibal nods. "Her sub wanted to experiment with it. Alana isn't a masochist." A smile. "You, my dear, are."

A blush of blood, a press of lips. Will tilts his head. "I assume you'd be there," he says. "Alana too." Hannibal nods. "Does she have any prior experience?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I believe she is wanting to approach this as a student. She wants to learn, and so I will be there, to guide her, and teach her."

"So, you'll hit me too."

"If you'd like."

Will shifts his weight, jaw bulging as he clenches his teeth. His eyes, dark, are considering, giving nothing away. He tilts his head again. "No sex," he says. Hannibal nods again, immediately.

"None," he replies, and smiles, hoping to reassure; "You don't have the right parts for her proclivities."

It relaxes Will. He licks his lips, huffs, and smiles. "Are they coming here?"

"Yes," Hannibal says.

"When?"

"Tonight."

Will looks at him, eyes shining, smile lopsided. "Not a lot of warning there," he says, playfully chiding. Yet he stands when Hannibal does, ducks with an obedient nod when Hannibal offers his hand, puts his cheek to Hannibal's palm and sighs, lets Hannibal cup his nape, bring him close.

"If you had refused, I would have simply told them dinner was all they would expect from us," Hannibal says, makes his voice low, purposely raspy, and nips at the arch of Will's ear. Will shivers, bites his lower lip, buries his face in Hannibal's neck and clings to him.

"But you knew I wouldn't," Will says, smiling, resigned, as all men are when they find themselves utterly predictable.

"You have a soft heart when it comes to helping others understand themselves, and a desperate need to see curiosities satisfied," Hannibal replies. He kisses Will's hair. "So, yes, I knew you wouldn’t refuse."

Will hums, and pulls back, lifting to his toes and cupping Hannibal's face for a kiss. Hannibal smiles into it, always wonderfully pleased when Will kisses him like this – passionate, eager, like he is holding a hearth of dry kindling in his chest, just waiting for a spark, a hint of flame, to be set alight.

Hannibal leads him upstairs, to a separate room that may have, in another life, been a guest bedroom. It's not quite dark and obvious enough to be a dungeon, but if one looks, there are hooks in the ceiling, and the rim of decoration is not at waist-height, like in the rest of Hannibal's home, but put at the perfect height to bind a man's hands above his head, with hooks above it. And there is a bed, but it is spartan in comparison to Hannibal's own. The bed has ties for rope, for silk.

Hannibal turns Will around, pulls him by his hips, kisses the nape of his neck as Will shivers, relaxing into his touch. "Do you have anything you'd prefer she use?" Hannibal asks. "Alana told me she is a dainty thing. The heavier paddles will likely not suit."

Will tilts his head, baring his neck, and lets out a soft, considering noise. "What about the knotted rope?" he asks. "Or the long flogger. With the black handle."

Hannibal kisses Will again, nails digging into his hips as he thinks of them. "The knotted one will sting," he says. Will nods – he knows, intimately, what each weapon does. "Perhaps once she's warmed you up already."

Will breathes out, bows his head in both acceptance and an open invitation for Hannibal to kiss his neck. "What about the brown one?" he asks.

Hannibal pauses, and smiles. Their brown flogger is thick-handled, made of artfully shaped wood to fit one or two hands. The tails of the flogger are made of thick, butter-soft leather. It gives a solid hit, a lot of force and comparatively little pain. But it builds, it can bruise if used right.

"I think that would suit marvelously," Hannibal murmurs. Will shivers, eager and anticipatory.

Hannibal turns him around, cups his face and makes sure Will meets his eyes. "Back and shoulders only," he says. Will nods, accepting that easily. Hannibal tilts his head. "Would you let her hit your chest?"

Will frowns, tilts his head, absently presses his cheek to Hannibal's mouth and Hannibal kisses him, nuzzles his soft, curling hair.

"Yeah," he finally says. "If she wants to keep going and I have to rest my back, she can hit me there."

Hannibal nods. Though he's sure Will would have obeyed if he told him to turn during the scene, it's much better and cleaner to get consent for that beforehand.

"I'll teach her the traffic light system, if she doesn't know it already."

"Good," Will says.

Hannibal smiles, and brings Will to face him, kisses him until he's breathless and his eyes are shining. "I know you'll be wonderful, darling," he says. "But if you are on your best behavior, I'll see you richly rewarded."

Will's eyes flash, and he shows his teeth when he smiles.

Alana and her sub, whom she introduces as 'Margot', arrive right on time, at seven in the evening. Hannibal greets them with smiles, and offers Margot water, and Alana wine. Margot is a lovely little thing, with long russet hair and bright, glassy eyes that make her look innocent and young. She's wearing a thin brown coat that goes to her knees, and when Hannibal takes and hangs it, a form-fitting green dress is revealed, slit at the sides to give her room to move. Hannibal and Will both give her appreciative once-overs, before Will smiles, friendly and placid, and takes her hand when it's offered, bringing it to his lips.

She grins at him, gravitating closer, as most people do with Will. Hannibal takes a moment to exchange cheek kisses with Alana, both of them giving quiet platitudes, though he knows their attentions are both on their subs.

Will speaks lowly, coaxing to her like he might charm a fox from its den. Hannibal is immensely pleased to see her relaxing to him, no hint of tension or apprehension in her demeanor when he smiles at her. He makes her laugh, and Alana hums, smiling by his side.

"They look good together," she says.

"I agree," Hannibal replies. He smiles at her. "Would you like to come upstairs and see the toys we picked out?"

Alana smiles, her eyes bright and eager, and she nods. "Darling," Hannibal calls, and Will's head snaps to him, at immediate attention. "Don't feel you need to rush, but both of you can come up when you're ready. I will be showing our friend what we have planned for you."

Will's cheeks flush, delicate and pink, and he nods, dipping his eyes in a brief bow. Margot sighs, looking enthralled by his demure bearing, and Hannibal turns away just as Margot smiles and meets Will's eyes.

He leads Alana upstairs, leaving the door open. They have set the large brown flogger on a side table, the black one next to it, and the knotted-tail for last. Alana lets out a soft, impressed sound, setting her wine glass on the single shelf by the door, and goes to the table to admire the toys.

"No paddles?" she asks.

Hannibal smiles. "I didn't want to tire her out too soon," he replies. "Beating a man is a full-body task."

Alana huffs, grinning. "You would know," she says. "You told Will what to expect, I trust?"

"Of course," Hannibal replies, nodding. "She will only be allowed to beat his back, his shoulders, and his chest. He knows it is not sexual and will not become sexual in your presence. Does Margot know the traffic light system?"

"Yes," Alana says.

Good. One less thing he will explain to her.

"I will give her instructions, and offer advice," Hannibal says. "But I'm somewhat curious as to her level of perception, and fluidity when it comes to new experiences. Will is not shy about asking for what he wants."

Alana hums, one eyebrow raised. It's a playful challenge. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."

Almost on cue, the floorboards creak outside the door, and Hannibal turns to see Will pushing it open. Margot has both her hands wrapped around his other one, and she follows him in, wide-eyed, gazing around the room intently. Will turns to her, smiling, and leans in to nudge her shoulder with his forehead, before he shakes his hand free.

Hannibal smiles, and holds out a hand and Will goes to him immediately, turning so Hannibal's hand flattens over his throat, and Will leans against him, heavily, breathing in the scent of Hannibal that clings to his shirt. Hannibal kisses his hair, gently, watches over Will's head as Alana guides Margot over and shows her the toys.

"I'm going to take your shirt off now, darling," he whispers. Will nods, and steps back, lax and docile as Hannibal lifts his t-shirt over his head, folds it, and sets it on the shelf by Alana's wine glass. Will's shoulders roll, his fingers twitch and flex, and then Hannibal guides him over to the far wall. "Lift your hands."

Will obeys, and Hannibal smiles, kissing the back of his neck. "Good boy."

He can tell Will is nervous, now – just a little, more from the presence of foreign bodies than any actual fear of pain. Hannibal goes to the chest at the foot of the bed, where the cuffs and ropes and restraints are, and takes out a set of padded leather cuffs, as well as a small coil of black rope. He threads them together into a makeshift loop.

"Margot," he says, keeping his voice light, watches as Will's fingers curl in the little edge of wood above his head. He reaches up, pulls one of Will's wrists down to bind them, then the other. "Alana tells me you are familiar with the traffic light system."

Margot doesn't respond, and Hannibal turns his head to see her nodding. She hesitates, and then says; "Yes."

"Good. Would you recite it for me, please?"

Will is calming, under his touch, under the sound of his voice. He never doubts, but it's good to be reminded that Hannibal's control, his patience, his preparedness, is absolute. Will need fear nothing when he's here.

"Red means I should stop completely," Margot says. "Yellow is 'Stop what you're doing, I need a moment', or 'Talk to me', or 'It's almost too much'. Green means to keep going."

"Excellent," Hannibal replies, giving her a smile. He works the rope binding Will's wrists through a hook just above the rim of wood, pulls it tight until Will's hands are bound together, stretched up over his head. Will shivers, sucking in a breath, rests his cheek against one bicep, exhales when Hannibal cards a hand through his hair. He walks to the right, where there is another hook behind the door, and threads the ropes through, and knots it there, so Will cannot pull.

"I'm also given to understand this will be your first experience with impact play."

He turns in time to see her nod again, and smiles, leaving Will's back and approaching the table. He gestures for her to come and stand by him. "We have chosen to go with things Will is very familiar with – he chose them himself, so don't be afraid to use any of these on him," he says, noting how she's staring, wide-eyed, at the knotted flogger. "I would, however, recommend starting with this."

He picks up the brown, heavy one, and hands it to her. Margot's brow creases in surprise as she hefts it, two handed, and then runs the long, thick ends over her knuckles.

"It's heavy," she murmurs.

Hannibal nods. "The heavier and thicker the tails of a flogger, the more broad the less focused the pain." She looks up at him. She's taken off her shoes and is shorter by several inches, and Hannibal resists the urge to tilt her chin up like he would with Will. Margot is not his sub, and she hasn't consented to being touched.

So, he smiles, and steps back, revealing Will. "Would you like to try it?"

She nods, and steps up behind him. Then, she frowns, and looks over her shoulder to Hannibal.

Whispers; "Does he have a safe word?"

Hannibal smiles, pleased at her awareness. "We'll just use the traffic lights for now," he tells her, and she nods, turning away, biting her lower lip and shifting into a ready stance.

Will sucks in a breath, straightening, the muscles in his back tensing and releasing as he readies himself for the first blow. He looks beautiful, head bowed, arms subtly bent to expose more of his shoulders and ensure that, should she desire, she can whip his flanks with minimal interference.

Margot steps up to him, and Hannibal shifts his weight, leaning against the table. Alana has retrieved her wine glass and leans next to him, nursing it.

"Thank you so much for giving her the chance to do this," Alana murmurs.

"I'm happy to oblige," Hannibal replies.

Margot hesitates again, and looks to Hannibal, then Will. "Can I -." She stops, clears her throat. "Can I touch you?"

Will lifts his head, turns it. He meets Hannibal's eyes and Hannibal smiles at him, but doesn't move otherwise. It is Will's decision – he knows the rules, and so does Margot.

Will rolls his shoulders, and nods. "Not my neck," he tells her, "and nowhere I'm clothed."

She nods, and steps forward, reaches out, dragging her palm flat down Will's spine. Will shivers, muscles flexing under her touch like a cat arching its back into its master's hand. There are faded bruises on Will's back from Hannibal's last session with him, claw marks cross-stitched across his flanks and, of course, the ever-present bruising on the back of his neck from Hannibal's teeth – skin that, while bared, they know Margot will not touch. He looks beautifully ruined already, and Margot hasn't even started.

She takes in a breath, steps back, and swings the flogger. It hits Will's shoulder and Will doesn't move except to curl his fingers around the rope holding the cuffs above his head. His skin turns red almost immediately, and Margot hits him again on the opposite shoulder. Will growls, his head tilting to one side as he clenches his jaw, but he doesn't do or say anything to discourage her.

She hits him again, and again, raising bright red patches of pain on his back. The flogger's reach is wide, spans like the handprints of a giant as she lays a pattern of marks down either side of his spine, peppers his shoulders and flanks with the ends, hits him again and again until she starts to sweat and is breathing as hard as Will is.

She has very little finesse, absolutely no theatrics, but she gets the job done. Hannibal can tell each point where the darkest hits will bloom, already taste Will's blood-sweet skin in his mouth. He swallows, his mouth watering at the sight.

Margot growls and hits a particularly red spot and Will flinches, tugging on the cuffs. Hannibal goes tense, ready to stride forward and tell her to wait, but Margot immediately stops, her eyes wide. She steps closer to Will's back.

"Color?" she asks. Hannibal stops.

Will sucks in a breath, shivering. "Green," he replies.

Margot frowns. "Are you sure?" she asks.

Will nods.

Margot steps back and looks over to Hannibal. "He said 'Green'," she murmurs.

Hannibal nods. "Why don't we switch to this one," he suggests, taking the second one, which has longer and thinner strands. "This will be sharper on him, feel more like needles. You will not be able to spend as long with it."

She nods, and trades the floggers. Hannibal smiles at her. "He may get quiet," he tells her. "Be sure to listen."

She nods, smiling at him.

"Swing it like you're painting a large canvas," Hannibal tells her. "Figure-eight motions work best."

She nods again, giving him a thankful smile, and turns her attention back to Will. Will is visibly trembling, his skin shining with sweat. He spreads his legs a little wider and bows his head forward. Margot rolls her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath. She lets it out, and then swings the flogger as Hannibal told her, arcing down his right shoulder, then his left.

Will moans, his fists going tight in the cuffs. He arches up into the sting of the flogger and Hannibal steps back again to Alana's side. She gives a soft hum of appreciation. "If I was more of a sadist, I think I would want a turn," she says lightly.

Hannibal smiles. "He's all yours if you ever want to experiment."

"You're too kind," she replies.

Margot swings again, grunting with effort. The loose strands of hair are curling around her face, dark with sweat and exertion despite the air conditioning's best efforts. She swings the flogger again, raising little red spots among the pink of Will's back. Will shakes every time a blow hits, but he doesn't flinch from it. Hannibal watches as the bruises darken on his back, little peppered trails of pain and impact.

She keeps going, until the pink marks on Will's back start to turn into a spattering of little welts. Hannibal doesn't intend to stop her – he's curious to see how far she will go, how much she will hurt Will until either of them calls it off. Hannibal knows Will's pain threshold is incredibly high, and he'll bear as much as he possibly can when he knows Hannibal wants it.

She swings the flogger again and Will moans, lifting his head as he lets out a rough, ragged sound. " _Fuck_ ," he growls, his arms tensing up, muscles flexing as he tugs on the cuffs. Hannibal shifts his weight, knowing he's getting close. Even though he doubts Margot is hitting him as hard as Hannibal can, there's only so much constant impact one can take before the force of the swings becomes irrelevant.

Margot hesitates, her eyes flashing to Hannibal. She presses her lips together and goes to Will again. "Are you alright?"

Will nods, clenching his jaw and baring his teeth. "Please," he whispers. Margot hums, looking down at the flogger, then Hannibal again.

She sets the flogger down on the table and approaches Will, close to his back. "I'd like to touch you again," she says, and Will sucks in a breath. "Is that alright?"

Will nods, frantically, eager. Margot smiles, and presses flat against his sore back and Will sags, whimpering at the touch. She wraps her arms around his chest and Hannibal watches as she drags her nails across his chest, under his arms, down either side of his spine. Her nails catch on the welts and leave little red lines and Will goes limp, whining desperately.

She does it again, cupping her hands around the red marks just shy of his neck, knowing not to touch him there, and rakes her nails down his back again and Will lets out a sob, needy and low. He starts to shake.

"Have you ever seen him cry?" Hannibal asks Alana.

She shakes her head. "No," she breathes.

Hannibal smiles. Margot flattens her hands on Will's flanks, pulls him back against her slim body and Will trembles, arching into her warmth. "Thank you, Will," she whispers to him, but loud enough that Hannibal can hear it; "You did such a good job. I know you made your Master proud."

Will whimpers, turning his head to one side to hide his face against his bicep. His hands wrap around the ropes again and tug. Margot runs her nails up his flanks, then across his shoulders and up his arms until she can't reach without her heels on. Her nails are longer than Alana's, sharper, and Hannibal knows Will feels every inch.

"Do you like pain, Will?" Margot asks. "You like how it hurts? How it stings?"

" _Yes_ ," Will gasps. He bows his head again, giving himself over to Margot's sharp-edged touches. A bead of sweat runs down his back and Margot hums, brushing it away, rubbing it into his tender skin. Her hands flatten, gentle, and she sighs, and presses a single, chaste kiss to his red shoulder. Will sags again, whimpering lowly, and she steps away with a smile.

She approaches Hannibal and Alana, shaking out her sore arms. Hannibal smiles at her. "Tired?" he asks, playfully teasing.

She huffs, wiping her sweaty hair back from her face. "Thank you," she says. Will has straightened, leaning his sweaty forehead against the wall, panting. He looks beautiful, red from neck to hips. Hannibal's fingers curl, wanting to claw, to bite him.

"Would you ladies like something to eat, or drink?" he asks.

Alana shakes her head, her smile knowing. She sets her wine down. "Thank you, we're alright," she says. "And we can see ourselves out. Take care of your boy."

Hannibal nods, pleased that she knows enough about him, and about Will, to know that they could not stand separation, right now. Margot puts her shoes back on and Alana takes her hand, kisses her flushed cheek. Then, she kisses Hannibal's cheek, and they leave the room, and Alana closes the door behind them.

Hannibal prowls to Will once the sounds of their heels face away. He wraps a hand around the front of Will's neck, forcing his head back and Will gasps, pressing himself tightly to Hannibal's chest. "Very well done, Will," he says, kissing the words against Will's sweaty neck. Will closes his eyes, breathing harsh and unsteady. "You behaved wonderfully, as I knew you would." Will turns his head, plaintive, seeking, and Hannibal kisses him, deeply, cupping his jaw to relieve the strain on his neck as he drinks from Will's open, panting mouth.

"Please," Will whispers. "Please, fuckin' -. Finish it."

Hannibal smiles, slides a warm hand down Will's sweaty chest, to the bulge of his erection in his slacks. He presses and Will whimpers, arching forward, arching back, desperately rutting between the pressure on his cock and the burn of Hannibal's chest against his injured shoulders.

"Please," he says again. His eyes are wet, shining, his cheeks flushed a beautiful, dark red. Hannibal curls his free hand in Will's hair, tugs to hear him gasp, and kisses his neck. " _Mm_ , Hannibal, please, _please_ -."

"Could I finish you with the last flogger, I wonder?" Hannibal whispers, though they both know the answer. Both know the answer is 'Yes'. Will moans, sagging into his touch, panting heavily. "Would you like that, sweet boy? Want me to make you hurt?"

"Yes," Will breathes.

"Want me to make you bleed?"

" _Yes_ ," Will says again, desperate, raw. "Please. I want it."

Hannibal smiles, and withdraws his touch. Will whines, impatient, needy. Hannibal takes the last flogger, wraps it around his knuckles, and drags them down Will's spine so he can feel the knotted barbs of rope on his sensitive skin.

Will tilts his head forward, bares his neck, knowing that when he comes Hannibal will want to bite him there. Hannibal growls, lets the flogger unwind from his fingers, and takes the handle in a firm grip. He swings it, and he's sure Will's cry is loud enough that Alana and Margot can hear him, even in the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, my darlings, we're all caught up. I'll see you tomorrow <3


	16. Praise Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started as an attempt a fisting and then.....devolved into praise? and aftercare? and cuddling? idk, these boys do what they want.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Will lets out a weak, trembling moan. He shakes his head, clenches his fists in the sheets, tugs them down. Bares his teeth and shows the corner of his mouth to Hannibal when he turns his head.

"Worried I'll break?"

Hannibal smiles, leaning down to nuzzle Will's spine, lick the sheen of sweat from his flushed skin. "Now, darling, there's no need to use that tone," he says mildly. "Don't I always give you what you want?"

Will cannot answer, his words lost in another weak moan as Hannibal pushes deep, four fingers inside of him. To the last knuckles. Will's rim is red and sore, he's so tight, clamping down in uneven spasms around Hannibal's fingers.

Hannibal smiles, kisses his flushed back again, and reaches for the lube bottle. He squirts more onto his free hand and rubs his hands together, slicking his thumb, his palm, and the tops of his knuckles. Will whimpers at the sound of the bottle clicking shut.

Hannibal arcs his wrist, rubs his thumb along Will's perineum as he carefully works in his fingers, deeper, brushing Will's prostate forcefully enough that Will spasms, and a rough, pained moan escapes him, like it was pushed from deep in his chest.

" _Fuck_ ," he growls, and sags, forehead to the pillows, strong thighs shaking, twitching, trying to close. Hannibal can feel the pressure of them against the outside of his knees. "Fuck, please, Hannibal, I -. Wait, wait -."

Hannibal goes still immediately, and leans down to kiss Will's back, annoyed that due to the angle he is being denied access to Will's lovely neck. Will rakes his nails over his nape, teasing Hannibal with glimpse of his sweat-coated, bruised skin. He trembles, tightens, moans ragged and rough against the pillows.

Then, Will grunts, and shakes his head. "I can't," he whispers, low, deeply ashamed. "I can't do it. Please, stop."

Hannibal nods, refusing to make any sound that Will might hear as disappointment. He flattens his free hand on Will's hip, holds him gently as he carefully works his fingers out of Will, as slow and gentle as he can manage. Still, Will whimpers, and Hannibal's chest goes tight and hot at the sound of it.

Will's shoulders roll, shaking and stiff, and Hannibal lets him lie down, lets him rest, covers him with his own body and then blankets so that Will is cocooned, gently smothered under Hannibal's weight and warmth.

He wipes his hands on the sheets, and then gently cups Will's wrists, bringing one hand to his mouth. "You did wonderfully, Will," he murmurs. Will lets out an angry, annoyed sound of protest, turning his head away – but he cannot run far. Hannibal chases him, catches him by the neck, kisses the furrow in his brow, the down-tilted corner of his mouth. "I am not angry, nor am I disappointed. You took what you were able, and I am very proud of you for that."

Will huffs, and refuses to meet his eyes.

Hannibal sighs, inwardly. Well, if his boy won't react to gentle, there are other ways to cement Hannibal's pride. He tugs on Will's hair, sharply, forcing him to bare his throat, and Will gasps and shakes when Hannibal bites down, finally allowed to put his teeth into Will's soft, delicate flesh – flesh that is his, by right, to claim.

"If you had forced yourself to keep going," he snarls, tightening his hands on Will's wrists when Will whines, bucking up, trying to shake him off. Hannibal is bigger, and in this position, Will can't get any leverage. "I would have been very angry with you. Your limits are there for a reason, Will."

Will sags, his exhale unsteady. He shakes his head again but allows Hannibal to turn him, and moans weakly as Hannibal kisses him. Then, Will's legs spread, and he arches up more deliberately, and Hannibal growls as his cockhead finds Will's stretched, wet hole and pushes in. He's not sure, in that moment, if he truly meant to mount Will, or simply would have found satisfaction in the slope of his spine or the cling of his thighs, but Will moans, reaches for him to urge him deeper, and Hannibal's protests die on his tongue as Will kisses him again.

He knows what Will is doing: seeking to satisfy Hannibal's lust since he 'failed' to do so the other way. Hannibal wants to correct him, wants to stop and make sure Will understands that his body, that this, is no consolation prize. There's no such thing when Will is involved.

But Will won't listen, not unless he has no other choice.

Hannibal closes his eyes, bows his head. He lets go of Will's hands and digs his nails into Will's hips instead, shifts so his legs spread on either side of Will's thighs, forcing them together. He hauls Will up, just enough that his stomach and shoulders bear most of his weight. It allows him to fuck deeper, to watch as Will's body greedily accepts all of him, and Hannibal growls, clenching his jaw as Will tightens around him, eagerly pulling him in.

"Look at you," he breathes, and falls over Will, elbows to the bed and forcing Will to mimic the curve of his body, to arch his hips and brace himself on his chest as Hannibal mounts him. Will moans, turning his head to one side and Hannibal smiles, nuzzles his sweaty hair, kisses his neck. He fucks in deep, rutting forcefully against Will's hips and Will gasps, tensing, his entire body rolling with a shudder as Hannibal finds his prostate.

Hannibal growls, a rumbling noise, and puts his teeth to Will's ear. "My beautiful boy," he whispers, slides his hands up Will's flanks, down his arms. He cups Will's wrists again, brings them together as though in prayer, and feels worshipful as he forces Will to part for him, dragging out the series of weak, needy moans that gain pitch and lose volume as Will gets close.

He kisses Will's neck, feels him tremble and shiver, and smiles. "You are perfect, darling." He thrusts in, growling as Will tightens around him, blister-hot and sore, and forces Will to lay forward, pushes him onto his belly so Hannibal can cover him completely. Will whimpers, hips twitching subtly as he ruts his cock against the bedsheets.

"Every moment I am with you, I am the happiest man in the world," Hannibal continues. Will makes a sound barely-human, shaking his head but Hannibal doesn't let him run, doesn't let him retreat. He kisses Will's bruised neck, his flushed cheek, laces their fingers together and holds Will fast. He kisses Will again, breathes in the scent of his sweat, his blush, the subtle after-spice of lingering pain from being stretched so much, still at Hannibal's mercy. "Whether we are sharing a meal, or in the study, or like this." Will moans, flexing, arching up into him. "Just knowing your attention is on me gives me no end of pleasure, and I would do whatever it took to keep you at my side forever."

" _Hannibal_ ," Will whispers, and turns his head, bares his nape, his forehead pressed flush to his arm. He's shuddering now, like a rockfall, like an avalanche. Hannibal's kindness ruins him just as thoroughly as his cruelty.

Hannibal smiles, leans down, wraps a hand around Will's cock and finds it hard, leaking. Will whines, gasping, his eyes flying open and head turning to tuck his nose under Hannibal's jaw. His free hand rises, cradles Hannibal's cheek, threads up through his hair like he might be able to get Hannibal to cover him completely, until their skin melts together and their bones lock.

Hannibal kisses him, for how can he resist, when Will looks up at him so sweetly? He kisses, and kisses, and Will's breathing goes very quiet, very slow. His fingers clench in Hannibal's hair.

Hannibal smiles, nips at his neck, nuzzles his hair. "Are you going to come for me, darling?" he whispers, but they both know the answer. Will's body clenches, is bearing down, dragged through the pain of abuse and tenderness to want, driving, clinging, desperate. He bows his head, shows Hannibal the stretch of his neck and the strong arch of his shoulders, and comes with a weak moan, collapsing to the sheets, gasping and groaning as Hannibal withdraws his hand.

He plants it on Will's shoulder, keeping him down, and rears over Will, closing his eyes as he lets Will's orgasm-tight body cling to his cock, the tight slick of him urging Hannibal to rut, to press as deep as he can.

He comes with a low moan, his teeth falling to Will's shoulder, his hands grabbing Will's hips to keep him still. He twitches, slamming deep and Will moans, sighing, undoubtedly pleased as he always is when Hannibal finishes inside him.

Hannibal pulls out, but refuses to go far. If he leaves Will too soon, then the words of praise and the sweet satisfaction of Will's orgasm will mean nothing. Will turns to him and Hannibal embraces him, pulls him close under the safety the sheets and, after a moment, pulls a blanket over both their heads, enveloping them in darkness.

Will huffs, but Hannibal can hear his smile; "We'll suffocate under here."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his forehead. But he allows the tip of the blankets to form a small tunnel, allowing a thin trail of light and providing them air. Will rolls his eyes, pressing closer, tilting his head up for Hannibal to kiss him – a request eagerly granted, as Hannibal cups his jaw and kisses him back.

Will pulls back, after a moment, and clears his throat. "I'm sorry I couldn't -."

Hannibal shakes his head before he can finish. He threads both hands through Will's hair and pulls him into another kiss – one with teeth and tongue that makes Will shiver and let out a soft, sweet whine. "I am more than satisfied," Hannibal replies. "The fact that you were willing to try, and then trusted me enough to tell me you had to stop…" Hannibal smiles, and shakes his head.

Will's lips twitch, upwards at the corners, tentative. He brushes his fingers over Hannibal's bare chest, sighs, and shivers. "Thank you," he murmurs, voice very soft, very shaky.

Hannibal hums, but has mercy on Will's nerves, and simply pulls him closer. He meant what he said – Will knows what he is, knows _who_ he is, and therefore is it not the physical conquest of him that intrigues Hannibal most. It is not the surrender of his mind, his deepest and darkest desires, that satisfies Hannibal's hunger.

It is his trust. Will trusts him – to see, to react, to stop. Trusts that Hannibal would not truly harm him in a way he didn't ask for. It is the sweetest, most intoxicating thing Hannibal has ever tasted.

He kisses Will's messy hair, draws him close, and smiles.  


	17. Edgeplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of edgeplay and overstim combined?

_Oh_ , he's close. Will can see it, see it in the darkening of his eyes, the way they get so narrowed that all he can see is pupil. The flare of breath, the way his lips curl back and show teeth around the gag pressed tight between his jaws, cutting into the corners of his mouth. See it in the clench of pale knuckles, the tension in his shoulders. Since he can't speak, he has a ball in his hand, and Will knows if he drops it, it means they have to stop.

But Hannibal is never one to back away from a challenge. Neither is Will.

Will grins, shows the tips of his teeth, tilts his head as Hannibal grunts, tilts his head back, lashes fluttering – flare open when Will snarls and tugs, sharply, at the head of his cock, smacking it firmly so that Hannibal flinches, stomach sinking in, and fixes Will with an indignant glare.

"Eyes on me, baby," Will demands. Really, Hannibal should know better by now. He rakes his gaze hungrily down Hannibal's chest – red, warm, flushed and sweaty. His skin is darker than Will's, naturally, and so his blush looks less like splotchy, raw meat beat tender, and more like the fine introduction of blood to whiskey. It's softer, and makes him look as though the light of the sun is trapped in his sweat.

He's beautiful.

Will pushes three fingers deep into Hannibal's stretched hole, smiles when he hisses and gives a sharp headshake in protest, breathing harshly now like a bull ready to buck, his wrists rolling in the cuffs that keep his arms suspended on either side of his head. He's propped against the pillows, in a position of relative comfort – certainly more comfort than Will knows Hannibal would afford him, if their positions were reversed – and yet his arms strain, his fingers tremble. But he doesn't let go.

Will curls his fingers up, runs his thumb gently up Hannibal's cock, feels it twitch, feels him clench up. Will has been at this for what feels like hours – might have been. Time flies and comes to an utter halt whenever he has Hannibal so vulnerable. The Earth dare not move, and the sun would rather burn the world to ash than set and rid itself of a single second.

Hannibal shivers when Will presses deep, his eyes flash and his thighs tense up, trying to draw together. He'll come if Will lets him – Will might, he's feeling generous now, pleased as the eagerness in Hannibal's eyes turns to impatience. He likes Hannibal impatient. Likes him rude.

"Ah, no," Will says, pulling his hand from Hannibal's cock and digging his nails into Hannibal's thigh, pushing them apart again. He tuts in mock disappointment, twists his fingers and presses up against Hannibal's prostate, relishing Hannibal's groan and pleased that, despite how close he obviously is, his eyes remain open, obediently trained on Will's face.

Will sighs, shakes his head in mock disappointment, and presses closer, knees beneath Hannibal's thighs. He pulls his fingers out, smears them rude and discourteous along his hip, and hauls Hannibal up, forces him to slouch. He groans as more weight goes to his shoulders, his ass tight against Will's thighs. Will tilts his head, spreads his hands out wide on the soft, paler flesh between his legs, forces him to spread obscenely.

"That's it," he growls, unable to resist the urge to wrap his fingers around his cock, rubbing the head idly against Hannibal's slicked hole. Hannibal's chest heaves, his entire body works to settle, works to arch up and try and get Will inside him, but Will is unmoving, and will not budge for Hannibal's pleas. "Keep your legs nice and open for me."

Hannibal growls and Will's eyes snap up. He smiles.

His other hand rubs, heel first, then palm, then gentle fingers, up Hannibal's flush-red cock, drags nails through the smear of precum and sweat on his stomach, watches as Hannibal flinches and tenses and tries to breathe. His mouth is red, corners chafed from fabric and time. His knuckles are white. His eyes – Lord, how they burn. But they stay on Will, obedient, challenging.

Will shivers, jaw clenching, as he finally loses his internal battle and pushes up, guides his cock against Hannibal's hole and allows himself to be swallowed. Just an inch, though, he refuses to let Hannibal win. Will growls, gasping as Hannibal clenches around him, fever-hot, so tight it's all Will can do not to come right then and there. He tilts his head back, exposes his throat in a tease that he knows Hannibal wants to bite, digs his nails into the innards of Hannibal's thighs and makes sure he stays spread out.

" _Fuck_ ," he snarls, bows his head, opens his eyes to watch Hannibal watching him, and though Hannibal is restrained, though he has been teased and brought to the edge and back so many times, Will feels helpless, feels weak, under the weight of his stare. He leans in, leans over, cups Hannibal's chin and kisses him around the gag.

Hannibal's lashes flutter, and he moans.

Will swallows, drawing back, and forces his control, forces himself to be still and unmoving as stone, to wield his power as effortlessly as he might his gun. There is something about the day, about the sun as it touches Hannibal's skin, about the way his eyes never waver, never stop seeing; something in the way he had tilted his head back and accepted the gag in his mouth when Will placed it on him; something about the warmth of his hands on Will's back as Will fucked him the first time and didn't let him come, hasn't let him come all night while Will filled him and fucked him and then tied him up and teased him -.

There is something. It makes Will tremble, makes him hungry.

He pulls back, growls as Hannibal tries to tighten his thighs, tries to wrap his legs around Will, urging him deeper, urging him on. " _No_ ," he snaps, and tugs on Hannibal's hips, forces him to slide, to stretch, straining against the bindings around his wrists. Hannibal is on his back, now, fully, arched up into Will's lap. They both groan at the change in angle and Will pulls out, wraps a hand around his cock, and his smile is feral when Hannibal gives a weak sound of protest.

"Yeah, well, that's what you get," Will whispers, venomous, soft as the pierce of a sharp knife through flesh. "Good boys who do what they're told get fucked like they want. Bad ones have to just lay there quietly while daddy uses his hand."

 _That_ does it. Hannibal's eyes flash and he lifts his head, staring at Will as though Will just sucker-punched him in the stomach. His jaw goes lax, his cheeks flush very, _very_ darkly, and his cock twitches and spurts another heavy pool of precum onto his stomach.

Will grins, lopsided, until his cheeks hurt. "You like that, baby?" he asks, prowls over Hannibal and braces his hand on Hannibal's chest. Hannibal's nostrils are flared, his breathing so heavy. His eyes dip down, just once, to watch the slide of Will's cock in and out of the ring of his fingers. Will shivers, grabs Hannibal's chin and forces their eyes to meet.

He leans down, rests his forehead to Hannibal's, tilts and licks the corner of Hannibal's abused mouth. Growls; "Wish I could fuck your little hole, darlin', but I can't if you don't do as you're told. Daddy only fucks boys who can behave."

Hannibal's breath hitches, and he snarls – a low, loud noise. Will sucks in a harsh breath, closes his eyes as Hannibal's thighs tense up around his, and then his eyes fly open and he pushes himself upright, watches with disbelief as Hannibal comes, his red and long-denied cock emptying all over his stomach and chest, marring the red-flushed glow of him with pale off-white.  

"Oh my God," Will breathes, looking wide-eyed down at Hannibal's face, sees the corners of his eyes tight with relief, his jaw slack. He can't keep his eyes open and Will watches him, watches his upper lip twitch, watches his neck flex and shine.

Then, because he can't help himself, he braces his free hand on Hannibal's chest, over his pounding heart, and fucks his cock through the mess Hannibal left. Hannibal winces, whining, his thighs shaking and tightening around Will's hips, heels digging into the backs of his calves as though trying to peel Will off of him.

Will grins, looks up, finds him still holding the ball.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he purrs, taking Hannibal's softening cock in hand, smearing them both through the slick, through the mess. His voice is soft, teasing – so utterly cruel. "Sensitive? You came so hard, didn't you, just from _thinking_ about daddy fucking you."

Hannibal moans, opens his eyes. They're shining now, lit as though from behind. He swallows, and around the gag, growls; _Will_.

"Shh," Will replies, leans down and licks Hannibal's red lower lip. "It's okay, baby. You looked so good like that, makin' a mess of yourself." He stops, licks his dry mouth, growls and ruts his cock through Hannibal's come, feels him twitch and tremble, feels his breathing stutter. "You want me to fuck you?"

Hannibal nods, lets out a weak noise.

Will growls, and lets go of their cocks, tugs the gag from Hannibal's lips and Hannibal gasps, suddenly free. Will claims his mouth immediately, tongue at the sore corners of his lips, fingers tight on his chin so Hannibal can't break the kiss until Will is damn good and ready to let him.

Will parts from him, breathing hard and he knows he's going to come as soon as he gets inside Hannibal. At least, to his lover, it will be a small mercy. Hannibal swallows, sucks in a slow breath, meets Will's eyes steadily. Will waits, he watches, his pulse hammering.

Then, Hannibal smiles, and his shoulders tense up, his thighs tighten. Every action makes Will want to draw forward, to drown. He collapses over Hannibal, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him roughly as Hannibal spreads his legs again, and Will settles, rutting desperately between his thighs.

He pushes inside and snarls, tipping his head back, gasping as Hannibal leans up and licks his bared throat, nips there. Will whimpers, so sensitive, so fucking _close_ , and then Hannibal tightens up for him, snarls at his neck and bites the corner of Will's jaw.

Will bows his head, kisses Hannibal deeply, moaning as he goes still, presses deep. His hands fly to Hannibal's legs, bruise him, drag nails, and he comes inside Hannibal, shuddering as he does so. Hannibal accepts him eagerly, purring in delight, and kisses Will as he comes down from the high, his smile wide and loving when Will blinks, shakes his head, sucks in a breath.

"Holy shit," he mutters, wiping at his face. He pulls out, wincing at the sharp sting of overstimulation, and quickly pushes himself upright, pulling the bindings around Hannibal's wrists loose, undoing the cuffs. He takes the ball from Hannibal's hand and sets it all to one side, unties the piece of cloth that made the gag and throws it away.

Then, he crawls onto Hannibal, settles over his dirty stomach, leans down and kisses him. Hannibal's hands cradle his cheeks, his jaw, his warm neck, and Will digs his fingers under Hannibal's shoulders, kneading at sore muscles with gentle, firm touches. Thankfully, under Hannibal's tutelage, he has become very familiar with all the ways a man can ache after rough treatment, and knows where to touch, how to soothe, to prevent anything more than pleasant soreness.

Hannibal's kiss is lazy, fucked-out, as he drinks from Will's mouth and drags his lips lazily against Will's – then, down his jaw, over his neck. Will shivers, pulling the blankets over his shoulders so it covers both of them, and leans down to nuzzle his lover's sweaty hair.

Then, Hannibal laughs, and runs his warm hands, wide, down Will's back. He tugs Will closer. "Come here," he murmurs hoarsely, and Will collapses to him with a sated moan, lets Hannibal roll him to his back and sighs as Hannibal settles over him, a tangle of damp sheets and sunlight and warm, wet skin. They're disgusting with it, slick, sharp with come and sweat. Will tucks his nose under Hannibal's neck and sighs.

He laughs. "Just when I think I've found everything you like," he murmurs. Hannibal turns his head, kisses his cheek. He smiles. "You're a true hedonist. A glutton for pleasure."

"No, darling," Hannibal replies, shaking his head. "I'm merely a glutton for you."

"Oh! I see," Will says, grinning, in a good humor. "So, your desires are purely reactionary."

"Not at all," Hannibal says, and lifts up so Will can see his face. "But beyond what I want, beyond the things I like, seeing how they affect you…" He tilts his head, drags gentle knuckles down Will's flushed cheek. "Knowing you are feeling pleasure, and seeing it touch every part of you excites me more than anything else."

Will blinks, tilts his head. "So seeing me turned on turns you on," he says.

Hannibal huffs, and grins. "In essence, yes," he replies, and leans down for a kiss. His hands flatten on Will's arms, pull to his wrists, tighten. "But that is not to say I don't find equal delight in indulging myself."

He tilts his head, kissing Will's neck.

"I love gorging myself on you."

Will shivers, gasping as Hannibal opens his mouth wide, edges his teeth along Will's thundering pulse. "You're insatiable," he breathes.

Hannibal laughs, but doesn't argue. He knees Will's thighs apart, lowers himself so their bodies rut together and Will whines, trembling, as Hannibal bites his neck again.

"I confess, my beautiful, sweet, dearest Will, that you are right," Hannibal purrs, drags his nose to Will's jaw, bites down there, then further, at the arch of his ear, until Will starts to shake in earnest and his flesh breaks out in goose bumps. "But I prefer the term 'gluttonous'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a message from my old dom and this is 100% a result of that, not even going to lie. I have also seen NO fic where Will is the 'daddy' so I thought I'd give it a shot? Idk, I like where it went.


	18. In Public

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (semi) public

" _Will_."

Hannibal means it to be scolding, but he's sure it comes out more wanton than anything else. Wanton as Will, who right now is pressed tight to his chest, palming at him with little finesse and even less sense of propriety. Which he really should have, given that they're in the reception area of Brian's wedding and any minute now the happy bride and groom are due to appear from their limo from the chapel and will be passing right by them, towards the dance hall.

Will just laughs. His eyes are bright, his cheeks flushed, and he leans in, noses heavily at Hannibal's pulse, sighs and growls when Hannibal tugs a warning hand through his hair.

"Will, we really should -."

"Be kissing right now, you're right," Will finishes for him, slides his hands up the lapels of Hannibal's suit jacket and yanks him into a kiss. Hannibal sighs, unable to help himself or resist the call of Will's wine-sweet mouth.

Will's tongue is lax, and he grabs at Hannibal and kisses him without care for decorum – nor the noise, if the loud, needy moan he lets out is any indication. He pulls back, wipes at his mouth in a heavy-handed motion, and fixes Hannibal with dark, dark eyes.

Smiles, lopsided, sly.

Goes to his knees.

Hannibal immediately grabs his hair, though whether he means to encourage or scold, he cannot possibly say. He looks up, finds the shelter of an overly large palm plant and the cluster of coats to be an extremely unsatisfactory amount of cover. Anyone who walked past would be able to see them – see him, with his face flushed and his hands buried in Will's hair. See Will, on his knees, pawing impatiently at Hannibal's suit pants.

See Will as he finally manages to get Hannibal's cock free and swallows him down with a ragged growl. Hannibal clenches his jaw, takes one hand from Will's hair to bite at his fist, his knuckles, nostrils flaring as Will swallows him down. Will's mouth is warm, so warm, tight and slick and his hands flatten on Hannibal's thighs, so he cannot thrust, but he also cannot pull away.

Will sucks on him, too good at this now for Hannibal to resist. He gives himself to it, figuring a short performance is better than being caught in the act, and Will snarls, sucks, red cheeks hollowing as Hannibal grips his neck tightly and comes down his throat.

Will purrs, kneading gently at Hannibal's shaking thighs. He swallows, lets Hannibal slip, limp and wet, from his mouth, and looks up, fixing Hannibal with a charming coyote smile.

He pushes himself to his feet as Hannibal tucks himself back in, trying to correct his clothes from the rumpled mess Will's hands created on his pants and shirt. Will presses close to him, nuzzling, nipping at his neck, and he tugs on Hannibal's chin, turns him for a kiss.

"Remind me next time one of our friends gets married," he murmurs. "We will be in charge of the bar, and the food. You're the best tasting thing I've had all night."

Hannibal huffs, tries to slow his heart, tries to fight past the flush on his face. He runs his hand through his hair, makes sure it's not colored too darkly with sweat, or too mussed. Will, in comparison, looks ravished to the bone, and he makes no such move as Hannibal to correct his appearance.

"You're biased," Hannibal finally manages.

Will grins at him, and pulls him into a kiss. "Maybe," he replies. Smiles, kisses again, and Hannibal has to agree, for all his teasing; Will tastes divine. Slicked and salted with Hannibal's come and lazy with his mouth, his lips, his sweet tongue.

"Perhaps you will give me a taste, later."

Will's eyes darken, he bites his lower lip and rakes Hannibal up and down. Hannibal bears his gaze, though his sensitive body twitches; Will looks ravenous, like he could eat Hannibal alive. Maybe he will.

"Darling," Hannibal says, and holds out his hand. "Our hosts await us."

Will's nostrils flare. His eyes flash. He puts his hand in Hannibal's and it holds the same feeling as putting a collar on a hunting dog. Will is vibrating with energy, eager to chase, eager to hunt. Hannibal kisses him, gentle on his cheek, and leads him back to the dance hall.

Alana is at their table, and fixes both of them with a very unimpressed, knowing look. Will grins at her, unashamed, glowing with joy, and invites her to dance.


	19. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this turned out surprisingly soft so like, who's surprised

Will catches Hannibal looking, sometimes. When it's the early hours of the morning and the sun is heavy and warm, when Will comes to wakefulness with his back bared, exposed, sheets pooled around his hips and the press of Hannibal's thigh a warm, yet unobtrusive presence at his side.

Hannibal rises early, but if he is not in the mood to begin breakfast immediately, or has no pressing concerns to attend to, it is often Will finds himself the subject of his lover's gaze, his pencil. Hannibal has books and books filled with his likeness; studies on the precise angle of his jaw; pages and pages dedicated solely to his eyes. There are splashes of color there, sometimes. Hannibal once said his eyes changed, sometimes grew green, sometimes browning, depending on the amount of sunlight he was exposed to. They're bluest in the sun.

"Which do you prefer?" he had asked.

"I have no preference," Hannibal had replied, his touch gently angling Will's chin so that light caught on his neck, highlighted the flex and dip of tendons and bone. Hannibal, Will is sure, likes looking at his neck most of all. "Every facet, every part of you, is beautiful. I am compelled to immortalize them all."

As if sensing his thoughts, or perhaps merely reacting to Will stirring to wakefulness, Hannibal shifts, and turns, and Will sighs when he feels the hard, smooth spine of Hannibal's sketchbook touch his shoulder. He turns his head away, keeps his eyes closed, stretches out and sighs.

Hannibal huffs, and lightly taps Will's sheet-covered thigh with his pencil. "Be still," he murmurs.

Will smiles to himself, but settles. The glow of morning sunlight touches the backs of his eyelids and he yawns, blinking them open, and idly scratches at the scruff on his face.

Hannibal growls, and Will sucks in a breath as his neck is suddenly covered, and Hannibal lets go of his sketchbook, forcing Will's head down and dragging his offending arm back to where it had been on the bed, stretched out and laxly bent to touch the pillow.

Will huffs. "Demanding," he mutters, half a scold.

"The lighting is very particular," Hannibal replies. "The way it touches you, in this moment, is unique. I need to get it right."

Will hums, but allows himself to be positioned, and placed as his lover likes. "Anything in particular you're trying to get right?"

Hannibal pauses. His fingers brush over Will's sun-warm skin, curl around the edges of his sketchbook and lift it from him, settling it on his lap. Will doesn't turn his head, for he's sure if he tried, Hannibal would simply correct him and force him back into the place he likes.

Then, so gentle it's barely more than another brush of air, Hannibal's touch lands. On Will's back, low, a raised line of scar tissue in the shape of a knife. It was given to him years ago, when he was still a cop – yet Will, stubborn, of course, knows it healed badly. It's old, and faded, but it's knotted and a dark, fleshy pink in contrast with the rest of his skin.

He tenses.

Hannibal sighs, and withdraws. Will tilts his head as he hears the drag of the pencil, the scratch of graphite as it falls prey to the press of paper, to Hannibal's capable hands as they render his likeness, forever-still.

"You see your scars as ugly," Hannibal says, after a moment. After an hour. After a lifetime.

Will sighs, closes his eyes. "I see what made them as ugly," he replies.

Hannibal lets out an intrigued, quiet noise, but does not stop in his work. "They are the result of a horrendous thing," he says. "So, as a result, you find them unsatisfactory. Something you would rather hide, or ignore."

Will doesn't want to flinch. Doesn't want to ruin the lighting. His fingers curl.

"I wonder," Hannibal continues, like he isn't aware of Will's internal jitters. Of course, he's always aware, can probably feel the flutter of Will's heart and smell the first capsaicin-sharpness of his distress. "Would you find them just as unseemly, if their origin was different?"

Will frowns, lets his eyes open. "What do you mean?"

"Would you hate them as much if they had been put there by someone you loved?"

 _Oh_. Will closes his eyes, presses his lips together. Thinks of the scar on his thigh where Hannibal bit him. Thinks of the one he has on the back of his shoulder, put there when Hannibal got that look in his eyes and brought out the bullwhip. Thinks of the many, many others he's sure Hannibal has wanted to leave on him; bruises and blisters and marks from his nails. He shivers.

"I don't hate the ones you give me, if that's what you're asking."

Though Hannibal makes no sound, and does not shift his weight, Will knows he's smiling. "I'm glad," he purrs, and the soft scrapes of his pencil on paper begin again. Will sighs, lets the rhythm of it take him, as Hannibal shades with cross-hatching, carefully arcs the tip over the curls and curves of his back, the dip of his spine that Hannibal is so enamored with.

Then, Hannibal moves. He pushes Will's thighs apart and Will sucks in a breath, shivering as Hannibal pulls the sheets down. Bares his ass, his thighs, reveals the tenderest parts of Will for his greedy gaze. Hannibal pushes at him further, one knee bent, one leg up, until Will knows he can see the bite mark he left, where Will is most pale, most easily pierced.

Hannibal lets out a soft, eager noise, and leans down to kiss Will's thigh. He reaches forward, tugs Will's arm down, has him curl his fingers behind his knee. "Keep yourself spread," he whispers.

Will bites his lower lip, groans, but obeys, and turns his face into the pillows, hiding his blush as he feels Hannibal settle on his knees, resting his sketchbook on Will's unbent leg, over the calf muscle. His thigh is warm against Will's skin, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

"How's the light for this one?" he asks, and tries to be sharp, tries to be playful. But he can't. There is reverence in this moment, and he knows Hannibal is looking at him as he might have first gazed upon the stars, full of wonder and joy. And Hannibal is warm, his hands gentle, his breathing even and slow. It is hypnotic, it is safety. Even exposed as Will feels, as he undoubtedly is, he is trusting and lax as he lets Hannibal draw him.

Hannibal lets out a quiet, lovely laugh, and he leans down again, brushes his lips with the utmost tenderness over the scar on Will's back.

"Perfect," he murmurs, and straightens. "Now be still."


	20. Double Penetration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of? Also a bit of shibari :D

Will likes ropes. He likes the way they dig into skin, turn the flesh red around it, then white when there's just a little too much pressure. He likes the give of muscle, the tension as Hannibal flexes as it's tightened, the way he eventually relaxes into it, lets Will bind him into more and more complicated and uncomfortable positions. Will loves the way Hannibal makes soft, disapproving sounds, meek protests that fall on deaf ears because Will never hesitates. His hands are assured and confident, knowing exactly where to let muscle loose, exactly how to soothe the tremors and aches when they're done.

He has Hannibal bound, his wrists to his knees, his chest lying flat on a small stool so he can let his head hang and won't suffocate. Hannibal's knees are spread as wide as he can get them, and tethered with ropes the color of old blood. It's a distinctly flattering color with Hannibal's tan skin; darker than the ones they use for Will.

A crisscross of ropes straddles his back and hips, gives Will something to hook his fingers in, to pull Hannibal back into his thrusts. Will growls as Hannibal tightens up around him, clenches when he pulls back, relaxes when he fucks in. Hannibal is greedy, is gluttonous in all things.

Will tips his head back, bares his teeth as he fucks into Hannibal again. " _God_ , you're tight today," he mutters. In answer, Hannibal tenses, rolls his hips as best he can, sinks until the flesh of his ass presses tight to Will's hips and thighs. Will growls, tugs on the ropes around his back, runs his hands down and grips his hips. "You want more?"

Hannibal lets out a low, eager noise, and Will sees him nod.

He smiles, lopsided, more like a snarl. One hand slides to the dip of his spine, then lower. He presses, teasing, testing, at Hannibal's red rim, and Hannibal shivers. Sweat shines on his back, slicking the way, and Will carefully curls his forefinger and presses, works it in along the top of his cock.

The pressure of his finger against his cock is insane, the way Hannibal trembles and moans for it makes his tongue feel sharp, his mouth dry. He bows his shoulders, leans forward to see the way Hannibal is wrapped tight around his cock and finger.

"More?" he breathes, and as Hannibal nods, he pushes a second finger in. He knows it hurts, knows it stings – the prep job he did for Hannibal today was passable at best, and though he's tight and eager, Will knows it must hurt.

He thinks of the giant dildo Hannibal forced him to work himself on, and growls, pressing deeper. He pushes at his cock, makes it slide down along Hannibal's prostate and Hannibal clenches up with an eager moan.

"God," he whispers, breathless. "Look at you. You're so greedy, sweetheart. You'd take anything I gave you, wouldn't you?"

Hannibal moans, and Will sees his fingers clench against his knees. But he nods, mute – one of Will's rules, today. No talking, except to use his safe word if necessary. Though Hannibal can bring him right to the edge with nothing but the sounds he makes, the way he talks to Will when they're like this, Will wants to just enjoy himself. The way the ropes dig into Hannibal make him look like an offering, a feast.

Will grunts, pulling back and fucking in again, the pressure of his fingers making Hannibal feel so tight, so fucking warm around him it's taking everything in him not to come. He twists his fingers, tugs at Hannibal's rim, pushes in past the second knuckle and Hannibal moans, loudly.

"Gonna work you up to a second dick, eventually," Will says, pulling his fingers out and digging his nails into Hannibal's hips. He tugs Hannibal back, sheathes himself inside his lover as Hannibal lets out a ragged, desperate sound. "Gonna make you take it and me and the same time, get you all stretched out so you can't even cling to me anymore."

In answer, Hannibal clenches up around him, sore muscles spasming and Will groans, tilting forward until his cheek presses to the ropes around Hannibal's shoulders.

"I'm gonna come, baby," he says, though he's sure Hannibal needs no warning. Hannibal bows his head, shows Will the nape of his neck in a sure, sweet moment of vulnerability, and Will growls, bares his teeth and fucks in, clenches his eyes tightly shut as he lets go and floods Hannibal with his come. He collapses, weak and spent, over his lover's back, his hands turning gentle as he slides them up Hannibal's flanks, and he gasps, shivering, as he finishes inside him.

He pulls out with a sigh, smiles and thumbs at Hannibal's slick rim, spreads him so some of his come leaks out. Hannibal shivers, growling like he's angry with himself at the loss, and Will leans down, licks, gathering what spills on his tongue and upwards so he can push it back inside.

"You like that?" he whispers, wrapping one hand around Hannibal's flushed, leaking cock, and stroking tightly. Hannibal growls, turns his head so Will can see his red cheek, the sharp corner of his eyes. He nods. Will's smile widens, and he tilts his head, rests his cheek on Hannibal's back, and breathes out as he feels the familiar tension, the warning clench of Hannibal's spine as he gets close. "Mm, I can't wait to see you, stuffed full of me."

Hannibal's cock twitches, his thighs tense. His fingers curl.

Will tuts, and he lifts his head, sliding the fingers of his free hand between Hannibal's thighs. He pushes into his wet hole, three wide, and curls them down and Hannibal sucks in a breath, snarls, showing his teeth.

"Greedy," Will murmurs, letting his lips rest on Hannibal's flank. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Should'a waited so you got to come around my cock. It's better that way, isn't it?" He, personally, definitely prefers it – he loves the look on Hannibal's face, the complete mask of lax pleasure he shows Will when Will comes for him and tightens up around him. And Will loves it, loves the stretch of his muscles, loves how he can't force Hannibal out no matter how tight he gets.

Hannibal is a conqueror, and shares that namesake, but so does Will.

He works his pinky in as well, growls and tugs when Hannibal gasps. "Come for me, Hannibal," he says, sharp with command. "Not gonna untie you until you do."

Hannibal groans, bowing his head again. His fingers tug on his knees, but they cannot spread any more than Will allowed with his binding. He tenses up, tightening, clamping down, and Will lets out a pleased, low snarl of pleasure as his hand gets wet, as Hannibal spills over his fingers and onto the floor. He pulls his fingers out, wraps them around Hannibal's thigh and strokes him through it, until Hannibal hisses, too sensitive, and flinches from him.

Will smiles, and kisses his trembling shoulder. Leans up, and puts his teeth to Hannibal's ear, his weight on Hannibal's shaking back. His hands, on his lover's flanks.

"Good boy."


	21. Dominance/Submission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's was meant to be D/s but since I.........write that a lot anyway, this happened? idk, I like it :D

A quiet sense of power, Will had called it. It is not quiet – no, when Will comes for him on nights like this, it is a roar. It is purrs, and growls.

It is the darkness in his eyes, the way he tilts his head, shows his neck, whispers _come here, my pretty monster, I've got you_ when he smiles, when he kisses. The way his tongue curls around Hannibal's, up behind his teeth. The way he grabs with hands both soft and sharp – wide, warm palms that demand _in_ , and claws that leave no room for argument.

The way he gasps, and moans, as he spreads Hannibal's thighs and takes what he wants. The way sweat clings to his shoulders, his back. The way he snarls _yes_ and _more_ when Hannibal is inside him, Will resting on his lap, head thrown back, touching himself at any point that pleases him. He will rake nails over his own neck. He will push his fingers into his mouth and then Hannibal's, demand _suck_ , plead for a bite. It is in the way he purrs Hannibal's name, lax and sated and sore.

The way he pushes Hannibal's head down to lick up the mess he made.

The way he always rubs his fingertips over leather, over rope, when he binds Hannibal tight. As if to ask _is this okay_ or _you want it tighter?_ The way his teeth feel, bared but together, when he nuzzles Hannibal's neck and sucks blooming bruises to his collarbone.

The way he moans when Hannibal pulls his hair. The way his back arches, seeking warmth, seeking weight. The rush of his blood is a melody, the tremble of his thighs a symphony. The way his shoulders shake and roll whenever Hannibal wraps the collar around his neck.

His eyes can tell an entire story, the flex of his fingers an epic tale of tragedy and lust. The way his heels dig into Hannibal's back and tighten, _tighten_ , forcing Hannibal to fuck him harder, to fuck him faster. When he talks, it is filthy, it is raw – but when he is mute? Hannibal breaks.

The sweet scent of him when he's aroused is the most beautiful thing, teases Hannibal's nose and the roof of his mouth. Makes him itch, wanting to bite. Makes him weak, and yet wanting to claw, to rip. He would forever be happy with Will's warmth under his hands, his life at the mercy of Hannibal's teeth. His lover is a siren, a nymph of blood and song. Feeding him, soothing his fangs with wine, watching his neck go weak and lax fills Hannibal with a satisfaction as strong and unyielding as iron. As rich as blood and whiskey.

If Hannibal is gluttony, Will is wrath. If Hannibal is Famine, Will is War. And they collide, and crash, and come together as puzzle pieces, as meteorites on the same trajectory that will lay waste to all the Earth they touch.

Will is powerful, and in his power, he gives Hannibal control. Gives him vulnerability and each keystroke, each press of ink to paper, each touch of hands to warm flesh and teeth to blood-sweet skin; Hannibal falls in love all over again.

Will is a ravenous, starved thing. For touch, for a place in the world. That is what Famine conjures in a man; this wendigo, a creature that wanders and hungers and hunts. And War brings out Hannibal's monster, calls to him like the clarion bugle of a horn, and Will is the general, leading Hannibal onward. Spurring him to bloodshed.

Hunts sated a need, before, but now they bring joy. They bring life and light and pleasure.

His power is in the grab of his thighs, the press of his hands to Hannibal's back as Hannibal moves against him, on top of him. His hands are on Will's strong chest, and Will rears up, clutches him, rolls him onto his back and fucks in, driving deep. Will's hair, slick with sweat, blackened with the ash of their victory pyre, begs for Hannibal's fingers. Hannibal wraps his hands in it, cradles his sweet creature close.

Bares his neck, for Will's lips. For his teeth.

Will snarls, shoves in, and Hannibal's spine is molten for him, his breaths weak. Will lifts his head, claims Hannibal with a kiss, and comes, shuddering and growling and he is more a monster in this moment than Hannibal ever sees. His humanity sheds its skin in the dark, gives Hannibal a tease of fur and feline grace.

Will's warm hand wraps around him, and it takes less than a stroke for Hannibal to finish. Yet he aches, clenching around Will, letting himself be filled as Will licks wet into his gasping mouth, soaks his hands into Hannibal's sweat.

Rakes his hands up, to fist in Hannibal's hair.

The kiss ends. Their foreheads touch, and they share air. Will purrs for him, trembles for him, and pulls out but doesn't pull away. He never does, anymore. Does not flinch from Hannibal's teeth, nor tense under his touch.

He breathes out. "I love you so fucking much," he whispers. A confession; a declaration. War will destroy any enemy who would dare see Hannibal's reign end.

Hannibal smiles, and leans in for another kiss, shivering as Will drips his fingers through the mess on Hannibal's stomach and brings it to his lips.

"I love you, Will," he replies, soothing the creature, petting as it curls up at his feet against Hannibal's own monster. They are both purring, silent beasts of conquest and hunger. Hannibal unwraps the collar from Will's neck and places his mouth to the red, warm flesh, and Will shivers.

He kisses Hannibal again, sharing the taste of him, and sighs. Opens his eyes and fixes Hannibal with a considering, black-pupiled gaze. "I want to hunt with you," he murmurs. Hannibal's eyes widen, and he lets out a soft gasp.

Will tilts his head, and swallows, and then he says; "I'm going to hunt with you." Not a request. Will's power is undeniable.

And Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will again. "I can't wait."


	22. Frottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frottage + a TINY bit of primal play and face slapping. like a teeeeeeny bit.

They're ten miles from home when Will grabs Hannibal's thigh, digs his nails in and fixes him with a look. "Pull over," he growls. The night is old, old enough to almost be called the next day, and even the ever-packed beltway bridging Virginia and Maryland is sparsely populated. There's a body in the trunk of Hannibal's car.

He obeys, pulling off at the next exit, then the first turn, and drives beyond a gas station that hasn't seen life in many years, and there are dumpsters housing what he sincerely hopes is a pack of stray cats and not raccoons or foxes. Will yanks him from the car, into a copse of tress that allow no light, and shoves him against one that is tall and strong.

The air tastes like old gasoline and then it tastes like Will. Will grabs him, arches against his chest and Hannibal growls, cups his lover's sweat-salted jaw, rubs his thumb through the single, red-brown drop of blood that hit Will's face.

It smears, wetted with sweat, and Hannibal leans in, licks him clean. Will lunges for him and Hannibal growls, smiling, and fists a hand in Will's hair, turns him so Will's back collides with the tree, snapping bark. Will gasps, only a splinter of light from the highway hitting his eyes.

"Feeling wild, darling?" Hannibal purrs. Will is clutching at him, has one of Hannibal's thighs between his knees, and clings, nails in Hannibal's back, his breathing heavy. He nudges, half-blind, maps the slope of Hannibal's cheek with his nose, finds his mouth, tongue-first.

His head tilts and he parts his lips, coaxes Hannibal in and ruts his cock against Hannibal's thigh shamelessly, breathing hard.

"Touch me," he demands, and Hannibal smiles, tilts his head and nips at Will's jaw, pushes close as Will ruts against him. The roll of his hips is short, yet smooth, gentle rocks like he might do if he were buried inside Hannibal, teasing himself before letting go. Will's hands are greedy, grabbing, and he fists one in Hannibal's coat and hauls him even closer, until there isn't room for anything but air, and even then…

Will turns his head, snaps his jaws, kisses, a wild growl in him when Hannibal flattens a hand over his throat, cradles his chin. He forces Will to turn his head and shoves his thigh tighter against Will's erection, drinks in the shaky hitch of his breath and the sweet whine he lets out at the new pressure.

He leans in, kisses Will's ear. Bites.

"If you could see yourself," Hannibal whispers. Ignores the fact that he can barely see Wil as it is – but that doesn't matter. The darkness clings to them, clutches at them, and it makes Will feel loud and grand, like he's bigger than he is, like the stars shine and the moon crosses the sky at his whim. His hand slides through Will's hair, cups his nape, and his other hand goes from Will's throat to his hand. He drags Will by the nails to the bulge of his cock, presses and Will whimpers, trembling. "We were so careful on the hunt, but you need to make a mess now, don't you darling?"

" _Yes_ ," Will snarls. His hackles are raised, shoulders tensed. He lunges and grabs and bites another kiss to Hannibal's lower lip. "C'mon, c'mere, that's it."

Hannibal growls as Will kisses him, fists his jacket and tugs and snarls and _bites_ , and Hannibal gasps when he tastes iron in his mouth – Will didn't break skin, but the rush of blood to injured flesh stings and colors the taste of their kiss. Hannibal, incensed, grabs Will's chin, forces his head back, his head up.

Will gasps. Hannibal touches his thumb to Will's lower lip, feels the warmth of his exhale. "Easy, now," he warns. His lower lip hurts, aches tenderly with his heartbeat, which rushes, and thrums. Will licks his lips, tries to turn his head and suck Hannibal's thumb down.

Hannibal snarls, shoves at Will's chin. Will whines and Hannibal wraps his hand around Will's throat, forces him back. His palm connects with Will's cheek, one sharp motion, one sharp sound.

Will goes still. Hannibal knows he's being watched, watched as Will heaves a breath. His fingers curl, his palm aches sharply. He breathes out, softly, and wants to lean in. Wants to soothe the ache on Will's face, wants to put his fingers in Will's hair and apologize because yes, he hurts Will, and Will hurts him, but there's a difference between what they do and what he just did.

"Will," he breathes.

Will growls, turns his head. He catches Hannibal's hand and forces him to touch his cheek. Forces Hannibal to feel the evidence of his hit. The overly-warm splotch of skin, the way it feels, somehow, more tender than the rest of Will.

"Will," he says again, uncertain.

"Did you like doing that?" Will asks. His tone is low, ragged, and Hannibal can't read him in the darkness.

He pulls his hand away and replaces it with his lips, gentle. Will huffs, rolls his hips absently against Hannibal' thigh. He's still hard, which is promising – but Will can find pleasure in most things, Hannibal has found. They're the same like that.

"Hannibal," Will says, sharply. "Did you like doing that?"

Hannibal swallows, kisses Will's cheek again. "Curbing your wildness is an…enticing thought," he says slowly. "Or, at least, pretending to want to."

Will hums. His fingers find Hannibal's hips, flex, settle. He tucks his nose to Hannibal's jaw, forces him to lift, and turn, and bare his throat. Presses his teeth and growls loud enough that Hannibal shivers. His hand slides to Will's hair, slides to his throat. Tightens in each.

"Do you want to hit me again?" Will says, purring it. Hannibal shivers, and bows his head, and isn't sure about the answer. Will laughs, and licks to under his ear. Bites down. This is how mice feel, Hannibal thinks, in the cage of a cat's claws.

Hannibal tugs on Will's hair, turns and claims Will's mouth in a kiss and forces him tighter against the tree. Growls when Will groans, and squeezes his neck when he gasps.

"What I _want_ ," Hannibal says, very softly, very low, leaving no room for argument, "is for you to finish rutting against me, you wild little creature, so that I can take you home and make a real mess of you."

Will hisses, whining, and digs his nails into Hannibal's shoulders, pushes his red, warm cheek to Hannibal's mouth. His thighs tense, he moves against Hannibal like an untrained animal, seeking only pleasure – base, carnal, unevolved.

So beautiful. His need is so beautiful.

Hannibal smiles, growls, kisses feather-light on Will's warm neck, over the rush of his pulse. His hands fall to Will's hips, dragging him into a slow, long rhythm, so Will is riding his thigh, forced into Hannibal's tempo as he clings and shudders in Hannibal's arms.

"It's alright, darling," Hannibal purrs, as Will tenses and flexes his hands on Hannibal's shoulders, growls against his neck. "Let go. Make a mess of yourself. Come for me."

Will breathes out, goes still. Turns his head and kisses Hannibal passionately, his thighs tensed up and then trembling, heels dragging down the tree and roots as he comes, and Hannibal feels wet warmth against his thigh. Will snarls, shaking his head once, sharply, and sags against him.

Hannibal smiles, and forces Will's chin up. He taps on his cheek and Will growls at him, warning. "Feel better?"

Will huffs, and nips Hannibal's jaw. "Shut up."

He runs his hands down Hannibal's shoulders, grabs his hand and leads him to the overhead lights of the abandoned gas station, towards the car. Hannibal's hand has left a bright splotch of pink on his cheek, his hair is a mess and has bark and twigs in it, and there's a very dark stain on his jeans. Yet he smiles, and walks shamelessly, and pulls Hannibal to him when they reach the car. The body is getting cold and the blood is congealing, but Will is a far better lure and a much grander prize.

They kiss, and Hannibal presses his thumb to the smear of blood on Will's cheek. Turns him, to lick it clean all over again. Will cups his wrist, nuzzles him gently, and pulls back with a smile.

"Let's go home."


	23. Gags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little more face-slapping lol, per request

Will cannot, of course, ever let anything go. In fairness, Hannibal isn't exactly a pillar of restraint where pettiness is involved, but Will's motivations have teeth. They prowl, and claw, and bite. He is a wild, relentless thing, untamable as wind or avalanches.

And Hannibal wants to tame him. For the sport of it. To see if it's possible.

He should have known Will would not be so easily won. Even with his teeth buried in the ball of black plastic, sinking, seething at the restraints. Even with the hard edges cutting into the corners of his lovely mouth. Even with his hands, pulled behind his back and wrapped in leather so he cannot swipe and claw. Even with the collar around his neck, shielding Hannibal's gluttonous gaze from the displayed arch of his throat. Even then – even now, he is as a caged tiger, his rumble almost too low to hear.

Hannibal's mind races at the sight. He's not sure what to do with Will – sexual conquest seems like a background chance. For he will have Will bared for him, of course. He will, eventually, lose his inner restraint, spread Will open and wide and take what he wants from his lover's sweet heat. Whether he will free Will's mouth only to take it as his own, or he will knot a hand in Will's hair and mount him like an animal as Will howls and moans into the gag, Hannibal has yet to decide. Perhaps both. Maybe he'll fill Will's mouth and then gag him so he has no choice but to swallow and simmer in the taste.

Maybe Will, petulant, will let it leak out, will spit it on the ground at Hannibal's feet.

Hannibal circles Will, who is on his knees, his shoulders heaving, his jaw tight. Hannibal's fingers flex, and he lightly touches Will's cheekbone, his left one, where he slapped Will the night before after their hunt. His nails graze, above the line of Wil's scruff, and Will lifts his head, blinks, tilts.

His nostrils flare and he fixes Hannibal with a look, knowing and dark. He lifts his chin in a gesture both challenging and defiant, and Hannibal's stomach clenches, instinctively wanting to react. Will is a creature made of brashness and pride, able to tug at any marionette string he pleases in Hannibal with such effortless grace.

Will's eyes close, just for a moment. He tilts his head and Hannibal feels one of the strings _tug_.

He doesn't hit hard, but his palm is flat, his fingers pressed tight together, and the force of it cants at Will's jaw, makes him hiss and growl, a muffled curse pressed between tongue and plastic as he shakes off the hit and bites down on the gag.

Hannibal steps to him, eyes the blooming pink on Will's cheek, watches him for any genuine displeasure. But nothing comes – just Will, his snarling, lovely beast, and Hannibal wraps his knuckles in Will's hair, jerks him up.

Will growls at him and Hannibal tilts his head. He unfastens the gag and lets it drop, pushing his thumbs to the corners of Will's mouth. Back, exposing teeth, exposing gums, forcing him to part his lips and show his neck as his head tilts back.

Hannibal considers him, this beautiful mesh of pink and red and black, and hums, turns and slides two fingers between Will's teeth and the innards of his cheek. Will blanches, huffing in protest, his eyes lifted when Hannibal hooks his fingers between his teeth, tugs, forcing Will to rise up and straighten on his knees.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't bite," Hannibal tells him. That's all the warning Will gets before Hannibal's hand comes down on his other cheek.

Will lets out a ragged, angry noise. His nostrils flare, his shoulders tense up and he glares up at Hannibal accusingly. But he doesn't bite. His molars press, very gently – a reflex – but his jaw locks with his teeth parted, open, and his exhale is sharp and snarling.

Hannibal smiles, and drags his fingers back until his thumb sits between Will's canines, feels the sharp threat of them. He cups his slick fingers under Will's chin, hooks in his jaw, and forces Will to look at him. Will's eyes are dark, narrowed, considering as he always is when looking at a puzzle. If he tugs _this_ string, will that arm move? That finger?

Hannibal gives a soft, considering hum, pretends to angle Will's jaw and peruse him like one might evaluate a stallion for sale. Will trembles, huffing, and every muscle in him looks prepared to tighten and lunge.

"Perhaps there is some obedient strain in you after all," Hannibal says.

Will jerks his head, snaps his jaws together and bares his teeth. His eyes, defiant, shine darkly over his blushing cheeks, half-hidden by his wild hair.

Hannibal's fingers curl. "Oh, dare me, boy," he says, barely a whisper.

Will grins, off-kilter, showing teeth. "Make me," he replies.

 _Oh, you petulant creature._ Hannibal smiles, wide, and grabs Will by the chin, hauls him up to his feet and slams him back against the wall. Will grins at him, purring, and Hannibal tilts his head, brushes his thumb over Will's lip. Thinks about flooding Will's mouth with blood, smearing it on his jaw. Thinks about kissing it as it spilled from Will's lips, dried on his tongue.

Wonders if Will would let him hit hard enough to make that happen.

He probably would. Just to see how far Hannibal would go. How far he'd take it until either of them broke.

He imagines Will, how his eyes would shine when surrounded by bruises. The swell of his lips, already-red, split at the center, at the corner. He leans in, calming the riot of these violent thoughts with a kiss – one that Will answers eagerly. Though his hands are bound he arches forward and lets Hannibal crowd him to the wall, spreads his thighs and clings and lets Hannibal flatten his hand, on Will's neck, on his hip.

Will sinks his teeth into Hannibal's lower lip harshly, incensing, and Hannibal jerks back, growls at him, and brings his hand down and sees Will flinch, sees him tense up, ready for it.

His hand gentles, abruptly, and he cups Will's chin, turns him.

Rests their foreheads together. "Do you like it when I hit you?"

Will licks his lips, shivers. "You like it."

"Not what I asked." Hannibal is smiling.

Will jerks his head, lifts his chin, breathes out slowly.

"I don't know," he replies. Hannibal tilts his head, thumbs gently over Will's heated cheek. "I like how much I don't like it. If that makes sense." Hannibal hums. "It makes me want to retaliate. Fight back." He turns his head, presses their cheeks together. Growls; "Makes me want to hurt you."

Hannibal huffs a laugh, and wraps his fingers in Will's hair. He tugs, sharply, and pulls back, forcing Will to his knees. He crouches down and retrieves the spit-slick ball gag.

"Well then," he says mildly, and Will growls, bares his teeth, and glares at him as Hannibal hooks his fingers behind his lips again, forces his mouth open to take the gag, and pulls it tight, fastening it behind him. "I'd best take precautions."

He leans down, breathes in Will's anger, the sharpness of his sweat, just-forming. The sweet blush of blood on his abused cheeks. He kisses Will at the jaw, at his temple, and Will shivers, sagging instinctively, when Hannibal kisses his neck.

"Wouldn't want to get bitten by a rabid animal."

Will's shoulders roll, and he groans, bowing his head and exposing more of his neck. Hannibal smiles, kisses there again, and hauls him to his feet.


	24. Facial

Hannibal groans, bowing his head as Will fucks deep into him, like he can't get close enough, can't sink deep enough to satisfy himself. Will growls, edges his teeth along Hannibal's shoulder, nails in his hips as he fucks in again. The collide of their sweat-wet skin is obscenely loud, a chorus of Will's grunts and snarls adding another layer to the symphony.

" _Fuck_ ," Will hisses, as Hannibal clenches up around him. He's tired, and sore – Will has managed to make him come already and he's not sure he can get it up again, but his Will has always had a particularly driven style to sex that he's helpless to deny. He would bear Will, for hours, for days, if his lover needed him to.

Will drags his nails up, cups Hannibal's belly and his hands settle there, surprisingly soft. Hannibal notices, of course – he turns his head and sees Will, his eyes closed, his face slack as he goes still and lets himself tremble, feel Hannibal's heat and tightness as Hannibal clenches up around him again.

Will stirs, sucks in a breath, and nuzzles Hannibal's back. His fingers flex on Hannibal's belly.

Hannibal smiles. "Are you going to fill me up, Will?"

Will's eyes snap open, lock with his. He bares his teeth and starts to move again. "No," he growls. "Gonna -. _Fuck_." Hannibal forces his aching muscles to spasm, to tighten, and Will rears up, throws his head back, shudders around his exhale. He's shining with sweat, flushed to the core. He looks wild, and beautiful.

He pulls out, abruptly, and Hannibal gasps at the sudden absence of him. Will wraps a hand through his hair, hauls him from where he was bent over the bed and to his knees. His other hand wraps tight around his cock, stroking quickly, and Hannibal breathes out, breathes in, looks up at Will and parts his lips; ready.

"God _damn_ it," Will hisses, and his jaw clenches, his stomach sinks in. He comes, in thick spurts, over Hannibal's face, over his chest. Hannibal closes his eyes, feels the warm weight of his come, tastes and smells the explosion of him. It's overwhelming, how much, how heavy it is. He drags in a ragged breath and licks his lips, tastes Will on them, as Will gasps and growls and tugs on his hair.

Will falls to his knees, cups his face, and kisses him; smearing, tasting. His tongue is brash and brazen, licks Hannibal's swollen lower lip and then in, tracing his teeth, touching to the roof of his mouth. Hannibal shivers, letting himself be kissed, be devoured, as Will drags blunt fingers along his soiled cheeks, gathers more and pushes it between their mouths.

Will pulls back, gasping hard, sagging to his heels, and Hannibal wipes absently, thumb along his chin, and drags it to his mouth to taste. Will's eyes flash at the sight of it, before he huffs, and rubs the back of his neck, somewhat sheepish.

"Sorry," he says. "Should have probably asked first."

Hannibal shrugs, and smiles. He reaches forward and wraps a hand in Will's sweaty curls, and drags them together.

"Lick it up," he commands. Will groans, and obeys.


	25. Shaving

Hannibal is a tactile creature, let that never be in doubt. Will is the perfect vessel for him to lavish with attention, touch-starved as he was before Hannibal first got his claws in him. Will is weak for a gentle hand in his hair, soft kisses, strong arms. Though he often comes to Hannibal a stranger, a beast, he is an eager one, and by the end of long separations has turned into a purring, sated, and well-loved charge, trusting in his embrace.

Hannibal rewards his wild, beautiful lover with a kiss as Will settles, placed on a stool in front of a mirror that rests on one of Hannibal's desk easels, on the flat part of the bathroom counter. Hannibal has a folded cloth pouch in his hand, like artists have to store brushes and paint tools, which he sets down and opens.

Inside is a straight razor, a strop, a brush, and a small bottle of shaving cream. Beside it, a washcloth, folded.

Will's eyes drop to it, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. His smile widens. "Does my beard offend you?" he asks, and his eyes meet Hannibal's in the small mirror, then the large one, lining the wall.

Hannibal smiles, and stands behind him. He brushes his fingers down Will's cheeks, memorizes the soft sleekness of his beard, the longer strands along his strong jaw. "Not at all," he murmurs, pressing the words to Will's wild hair. "I'm simply curious."

Will hums, lashes low. "A craving for innocence?" he asks.

"You use your hair to hide the most vulnerable parts of yourself," Hannibal says. "I thought, given the circumstances, we were past that."

Will hums again. "Do you think there are parts of me I'm trying to hide?" he asks. He tilts his head up and Hannibal kisses his forehead. "And do you think I could? That you would not see them?"

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his cheek this time. He straightens and circles Will, and removes the strop and a small block on which to hone the razor from his bag. He slides the razor back and forth along the block, sharpening the edge of it to a fine point.

Will is silent for a moment, his eyes on Hannibal's hands as he sharpens the blade. Then, he takes the strop and holds one end out to Will, who takes it, and they pull it tight so that Hannibal can run the razor over it.

"This is merely an indulgence, darling," he murmurs, his eyes on Will, Will's eyes on his hands. The humidity of his recent shower, the curl of his damp hair, makes his cheeks look rosier, blushing in the warmth. "One we do not have to repeat."

Will swallows. "I feel like you are trying to make me into something else," he admits, and lifts his eyes, finally, to Hannibal's. "That I am too reckless, too wild, for your sensibilities. And this is you trying to curb that."

"I would never 'curb' any part of you," Hannibal replies, his head tilting. "You are not without power and control, Will. You have no need for a master or someone to tug on your leash."

Hannibal looks at him for a moment and Will meets his eyes steadily, before Hannibal turns his attention back to his work. "You believe this is a one-sided endeavor," Hannibal murmurs.

"No," Will says. "Not exactly." His lips twitch, and he lets out a small, low laugh. "Do you?"

"I'll admit there is an implicit power dynamic in our relationship, and this will exacerbate that to outside eyes," Hannibal replies. "I'm older than you, I have more money, and respect to my name and title." Will nods, once, eyes flashing. "And making you appear younger will only increase that perceived imbalance."

"You want that," Will says, softly, neither judgement nor praise in his voice. He is calculating, considering. He smiles and lifts his chin. "Trying to feed your ego, Doctor Lecter?"

Hannibal huffs, smiling. "I'm afraid, my dear Will, my ego is as ravenous as the rest of my appetites."

"And I am your sacrifice," Will murmurs.

Hannibal slackens the strop and Will lets his end go. Hannibal sets the razor down on the cloth and opens the bottle of shaving cream. He dips the cloth in water from the filled and stoppered sink, and sprays some cream onto it, then dips the brush in.

Hannibal steps behind Will and Will tilts his head up, his eyes half-closed as Hannibal begins to spread it along his face. Normally he would wet Will's face with a hot towel, to soften the hair, but the warmth of his skin and the dampness from the shower has done a fine job of that already.

"I think there's something deeper, here," Will says. "I think you want my face bare, so you can mark it. You want it obvious who owns me."

Hannibal shivers. "You're not wrong," he says, and brushes the cream over Will's jaw and down his neck. When Will's face is covered, Hannibal steps back. He cleans the brush in the water and sets it to one side.

Will smiles, fixing Hannibal with a look in the mirror, and then goes still when Hannibal grabs the razor. He unfolds it, pleased at the way the blade gleams in the light. If Will feels any anxiety over having Hannibal hold such a weapon so close to his throat, he gives no indication.

He's trusting and still. Hannibal threads a hand through his hair and tilts his head to one side, and presses the razor against his cheek. He drags it down in one smooth stroke, stripping away the hair and cream from Will's skin. He wipes the blade on the cloth.

"Have I done such an unsatisfactory job in sating your appetites?" Will says, only going silent when Hannibal presses the blade against his skin again. He drags it down Will's jaw, then passes over his cheek again.

Hannibal shakes his head, though Will, with his eyes closed, cannot see him. He presses his nose to Will's hair, breathing in the scent of pomegranates and mint, sharp and sweet in his mouth, on his tongue. Oh, he could devour Will whole, like this.

"You satisfy me in all things," he breathes, and then smiles, sliding one hand down Will's clean nape and squeezing so Will gasps. "Even when you pretend to suffer for it."

Will smiles, before he schools his expression and allows Hannibal to erase another patch of hair from his face. Hannibal circles to his other cheek and repeats the process. Hannibal finishes with his cheek and jaw, and slides the blade down his chin, and over his upper lip. He wipes the blade clean and then puts a hand on Will's forehead, forcing his head back against Hannibal's chest, so Hannibal can shave his neck.

They proceed in silence. Hannibal doesn't speak, and Will doesn't move for fear of cutting his neck. When Hannibal is done, Will's face is entirely clean, pink in parts from where Hannibal touched his skin. He looks young and fine, a piece of art worthy of any gallery, and Hannibal thinks of Ganymede, of Achilles and Patroclus. Of Zephyrus.

He kisses Will's forehead, and then folds the cloth and wipes the damp, clean edge on his face to wipe away excess foam. He washes the razor in the sink and unplugs it, swipes the razor over a dry patch in the cloth, and begins to put everything away.

Will watches him do it, his hands drumming against his knees.

When Hannibal is done, he turns Will, looking ravenously over his clean-shaven face. It has easily shed five years from Will, and he looks beautiful, so young and innocent. Hannibal cups his smooth, warm cheeks, breathes out, and pulls him into a kiss.

Will answers him eagerly, a sweet moan falling from him as Hannibal pulls him to his feet. Hannibal's own face is bristly with scruff and he thinks of dragging it along Will's cheek, his jaw. Thinks about laying bright bruises and bite marks to his neck. Thinks about turning Will's thighs pink with the burn of his facial hair.

"Sweet boy," he murmurs, and tugs on Will's hands. "Let me devour you."

Will smiles, blushing, eager, and lets himself be led.


	26. Roleplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

"Mister Graham, I'm Doctor Lecter. What seems to be the problem?"

Will looks at him, jittery, and shifts his weight, biting his lower lip. "Um, I, well -." He's blushing, and rubs the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture. Hannibal tilts his head, tries to afford him a pleasant, welcoming smile. "I've been having some, um, well, I've been having to go to the bathroom a lot and I was talking about it with a friend and they suggested I get my prostate checked."

Hannibal tilts his head, and gives Will a onceover. "Well, given your age, a prostate exam isn't irregular," he says kindly. Will flushes deeper, and nods. Hannibal goes to the counter and gathers a single latex glove, pulling it on. "If you'd kindly get undressed."

Will hesitates, looks at Hannibal. Hannibal will give him credit; he's playing his part wonderfully, the unsure, red-blooded American male who instinctively blanches at the idea of being penetrated. "Um." Will clears his throat. "All the way?"

Hannibal smiles. "Just your jeans and underwear," he says. "And you don't have to take them all the way off."

Will nods, works his jaw to one side, and turns away. Hannibal allows himself to watch, watches the subtle tension in Will's shoulders, undoubtedly able to feel Hannibal's eyes on him. He unbuckles his belt quickly, leaves the halves hanging, and unfastens his jeans, pushing them down. Then, his underwear, until they're knotted below his thighs and give Hannibal a glimpse of his ass before his shirt falls, covering it.

He swallows, and resists the urge to growl.

He steps up behind Will and pushes his shirt up. Will shivers, tilting his head, instinctively inviting Hannibal to bite him, but controls himself quickly and looks forward again.

Hannibal smiles, and presses his bare hand on Will's shoulder. "Just lean forward and relax," he purrs.

Will shivers again, but allows Hannibal to push him forward. He braces himself on the end of the examination table, arms tense and locked. Hannibal stifles a growl, but lets himself smile, and pushes again.

"On your elbows, please, Mister Graham."

Will tenses, looking over his shoulder, portraying discomfort and unsureness, but he obeys, his arms bending so his forearms are braced on the table, his shoulders tightening up and pulling to his neck. Hannibal nods to himself and drags his hand down, pushing up Will's shirt so it bunches and falls at the enticing curve of his lower back.

"Good," he murmurs, and withdraws. Will trembles as his touch leaves and Hannibal goes back to the counter, squirting some lubricant onto his gloved fingers. He returns to Will, finds him shaking and tensing, muscles flexed in readiness. He smiles. While Will can pretend, in his eyes, in his expression, his body gives him away immediately, always eager for Hannibal's touch.

Hannibal lets his finger drag between Will's cheeks, his other hand spreading him open and baring Will's pink hole. His mouth waters at the sight and he swallows, forcing himself not to tighten his hand, not to dig in, and he pushes in with one finger, deep as he can go.

Will gasps, bowing his head, the plastic on the table crinkling as his fists tighten. He shivers, shoulders rolling, and subtly presses back. Hannibal feels him clench up, trying to fight it, trying to welcome him, and he smiles, and curls his finger down.

He hums.

"I'm going to add another finger," he says, forcing his voice to remain clinical and soothing. Will gasps, and nods, his thighs tensing as he tries to fight the restraint of his clothes, tries to spread his legs. He lowers himself to the table, too shaken to remain on his elbows, so his chest rests on it.

"You're the doctor," he murmurs, and his voice is strained, though trying to be aloof.

Hannibal's smile widens, and his teeth itch, wanting to bury themselves in the sweet offering of Will's neck. He curls his finger, pulls it out to the first knuckle, and pushes in with two instead. The heat of Will is stifled behind the glove, and Will chokes, unable to stop the subtle, soft moan that spills from him as Hannibal fucks in with two fingers, tugging on his rim. Will spasms, and lets out a weak, embarrassed noise.

Hannibal huffs, and pats his hip in a placative motion. "Don't be ashamed, Mister Graham. It's quite natural to feel pleasure when one's prostate is touched," he murmurs. Will huffs, growling, and cants his hips back, down, asking silently for Hannibal to keep going. Hannibal can smell Will's arousal, sweetening and spicing his blood, and he obeys the silent plea, working his fingers in deep and curling them down to touch Will's prostate in a forceful, assured motion.

"How does that feel?" he purrs.

"It's -." Will gasps, moaning more loudly as Hannibal touches there again. Hannibal lets his dry fingers curl, slide in a way decidedly unprofessional down Will's hip and inward, until he touches the thatch of Will's pubic hair. He can smell Will; his arousal, his blush, the leak of precum at his cockhead. "It feels good," Will admits.

Hannibal hums. "No irritation, or painful pressure?" he asks, and touches Will there again, listens to him gasp and greedily devours the sight of Will tensing, wanting. Watches his hands press flat on the table and brace.

"No," Will gasps. "Not painful."

Hannibal smiles. "Good," he says. Will whines, very softly, at the indirect praise. The smaller hairs on the back of his neck are on end, turning dark and damp with sweat.

"How does -?" Will grunts again as Hannibal touches him, circling his prostate with tender, firm strokes. He runs his fingers along it and Will growls again. "Anything feel out of the ordinary?"

"Mm, no," Hannibal says. "But I may have to use another means to know for sure."

"Another means?" Will asks. Eagerly. Weakly.

Hannibal nods, though Will isn't looking at him. He pulls his fingers out and Will swallows back a groan, wanting Hannibal back inside. Hannibal withdraws his other hand, quickly and silently pushing down his scrub bottoms and freeing his cock from his underwear. He's hard, leaking, blush-red at the sight of Will, at the scent of him getting worked up for Hannibal.

"Let me know if you feel any discomfort," he murmurs, and steps closer. He presses his cockhead at Will's slick hole and Will tenses up, rears up, immediately.

"What are you -?"

"Mister Graham, please," Hannibal says calmly, and puts his dry hand on Will's nape, squeezing and coaxing him back down. "Trust me. I'm a doctor."

Will shivers, carefully working the tension from his neck, from his shoulders. He lets Hannibal push him back down and swallows, nodding. "Right," he murmurs, and for all the unsteadiness of his voice, his hips are pushing back subtly, aching and empty inside. "Of course. Proceed, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal growls, jaw clenching as Will purrs the words. He wraps his lube-covered, gloved hand around his cock, drags the head through Will's slick, and pushes inside in one smooth motion. Will moans, unable to help himself, and drops his head, lets Hannibal pet and hold him as Hannibal fucks in deeply, lets Will's warm, spasming muscles tense up and pull him deeper. Will's body doesn't know the games they play, and is as eager as the man himself whenever Hannibal touches him.

Hannibal pushes in until the knot of his clothes brushes Will's, wraps his gloved hand around Will's hip and tightens. Will clenches for him, ass clinging so tightly, and he lets out a weak moan, lifting his head and gasping open-mouthed into the quiet room.

"Doctor -?"

"Shh," Hannibal murmurs, tightening his hands on Will's hip, sliding his other one to Will's hair. They're past the point of pretending now. He works his hips back and fucks in again, hard enough that the table creaks in protest, and Will must sense that the game is over too because he moans, loudly, and arches his body back against Hannibal's.

" _Fuck_ yeah," he growls, and Hannibal sags against him, fucking him hard and fast. His hand flies to Will's hip, holding him with both, and Will gasps and moans as Hannibal fucks him brutally. The plastic rips under Will's nails and he braces himself on the table, working his hips back, meeting Hannibal for every thrust. The scent of him is maddening and they're both sweating, locked in this tight room and soaked in each other's air.

Hannibal reaches below him, catches Will's shirt and wraps it around his fist, then Will's cock, so when Will comes it will stain the clothes and he will reek of sex. Will snarls, turns his head to catch Hannibal's eyes, and his own are dark, ravenous. He fucks back as Hannibal fucks in, buries himself in Will, and comes, filling up his lover with a deeply-satisfied groan.

He pulls out, quick to replace his cock with his gloved fingers. Will moans, wincing, and bows his head, works his hips back onto Hannibal's fingers, then forward into his fist of clothes. Hannibal presses down, touches his prostate, and strokes Will with a punishingly-tight grip.

"Oh _fuck_ ," Will breathes, tensing up, going still. His breath turns high and shaky, and Hannibal smiles.

"You're doing perfectly, Mister Graham," he says. Will trembles, and lets out a weak noise. Hannibal presses closer, and puts his mouth to Will's ear. "It's perfectly natural. Nothing to be ashamed of." Will sucks in a breath, turns his head. "That's it."

Will comes with a loud whine, sagging to the table as Hannibal strokes him through it. Hannibal hums, withdrawing his fingers as Will spams around him, pleased to see the shine of his come on the glove and the small drip of it as Will's body forces it out. He lets go of Will and removes the glove, throwing it away.

Will straightens, breathing heavily, and wipes his hand through his hair. His shirt is ruined, stained darkly, and he looks down at his chest and gives a huff of disapproval. Then, to Hannibal, and he smiles.

"You're a kinky son of a bitch, you know that?"

Hannibal grins at him, and puts his hand, clean, in Will's hair, and draws him in for a kiss. "And you're an indulgent one," he replies. Will laughs. "Now let's leave before someone decides to examine your eager noises a little too closely."

Will blushes, and fixes his clothes as Hannibal fixes his. They leave in a hurry. No one catches them.


	27. Choking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asphyxiation/choking/will having a thing for how big hannibal's hands are

Will is silent. He's been quiet for a while, in a rare moment of complete stillness. They sit, side by side in Hannibal's study, nursing port glasses. Hannibal's is empty, Will's is getting there – he likes sweet things, and chooses to let them linger, to soak his tongue and sweeten his lips for when Hannibal inevitably kisses him.

Hannibal tilts his head, sees Will's eyes trained downwards. Not to his lap, but to his hands. He curls his fingers, experimentally, and Will's jaw tightens.

He smiles. "Something on your mind, darling?"

Will's eyes flash, but do not move. He clears his throat, muscles in his forearms flexing, hands resting on his thighs. Then, slowly, he reaches out and takes Hannibal's left hand, his closest hand. Cradles it, callused fingers tracing the smooth arch of Hannibal's fingers, over his knuckles, down the prominent bulge of his tendons and veins. His palm presses, flat and warm, into the saddle of Hannibal's thumb, and he shivers and bites his lower lip when Hannibal's fingers curl and press into the back of Will's hand.

He does not say anything, content to let Will touch and watch, obviously entranced by whatever it is he's thinking. He lowers Hannibal's hand until the back rests on Will's thigh, spreads his fingers out and pushes his own between them. It's an intimate, affectionate gesture, that warms Hannibal's chest and tugs the corners of his lips up.

Then, Will sucks in a breath, and lifts his eyes to Hannibal's. There's something dark in them, that creature that is Will's innermost thoughts prowling and pacing behind his ocean-deep irises. He drags his fingers from between Hannibal's and it's as intimate as a kiss. Hannibal swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

Will stands, and Hannibal makes to follow, sure that Will intends to lead him upstairs, but he is instead treated with an off-kilter smile, dimpled cheeks, and Will circles Hannibal and nudges his legs apart, stands between his knees, and crouches down.

Then, he turns, and sits on the floor, still holding Hannibal's hand. Hannibal sits forward, curls over his lover in a need to be close to him, to feel his warmth. His knees spread wide around Will's broad shoulders and he leans down, nosing Will's wild hair. Breathes in the scent of his shampoo – pomegranate and mint – and then, so slowly, Will cups his hand, palm to knuckles, and pushes Hannibal's hand to his bared neck. Makes him splay his fingers wide, until Hannibal is cradling his throat.

Will's Adam's apple bobs, encased by Hannibal's palm, as he swallows, and sighs, tilting his head back.

Hannibal kisses his temple, and shivers when Will pulls his hand away, leaving Hannibal's where it is. It is an unspoken command. Hannibal presses, gently, the meat of his thumb over Will's pulse, his fingers curling in the flexing tendon on the other side. The side of his knuckles sits closely under Will's jaw.

Will shivers, and licks his lips. "Harder."

Hannibal obeys, tightening his hand. He drags his thumb along Will's jaw, finds the soft give of flesh behind the hinge, and squeezes Will's throat with steady, gentle pressure. Will shudders, lets out a moan both soft and ragged. He tilts his head back further, inviting, demanding, and Hannibal lets his grip go slack.

Hannibal bows forward, slides his other hand down Will's shoulder, over his collarbone, to his chest where his heart is pounding fast and heavy. His lips brush Will's ear and Will trembles, knees spreading, every part of him arched and eager.

"Harder," he rasps.

Hannibal obeys, and tightens his hand again. He's large enough to cover Will's neck completely, and he knows in that moment that this is what Will was thinking about. Wondering if Hannibal could choke him like this, cover his neck in its entirety, blood and sinew and air. If he would edge the threatening line of taking it away from Will. He squeezes, and holds, as Will's breathing goes heavy and strained. His eyes close in a flutter of lashes, and he moans again when Hannibal releases the pressure and lets him breathe.

He smiles when Will gasps, and whines.

He kisses Will's ear, which has begun to redden, blushing from the heat and from arousal. The scent of him is thick, now, the thrum of his pulse a rhythm Hannibal could easily lose himself in.

"Hands are intimate," he says, thumbing under Will's jaw, forcing his head back so Hannibal can kiss his cheek. "More than belts, or collars."

Will lets out an absent, needy sound.

"I literally hold your life in my hands, Will," Hannibal continues, kissing his cheek. Will whines, as Hannibal tightens his hand again. "I could take it, with just a twist, just a little pressure held for too long."

Will's heart stutters, stammers, and races anew.

"Does that excite you, darling?"

Will swallows, and nods, once. "Hannibal, _please_ ," he rasps, and his voice is so wrecked, so sweetly raw. "Harder."

Hannibal's smile widens, showing teeth, which he lays to Will's ear, nips gently. Will gasps, and his hands wrap around Hannibal's ankles, digging in with nails.

"My dear, beloved Will," he murmurs, as Will's throat spasms beneath his hand, his chest heaves, instinctively trying to gasp for air where there is none, because Hannibal will not allow it. Hannibal keeps the pressure up for another second, then a third, before he releases Will and Will whimpers, trembling, and turns his head, meets Hannibal's eyes.

He lets go of Hannibal's ankles, one hand placed over Hannibal's on his chest, the other cupping Hannibal's cheek and his touch is so gentle, so sweetly intimate it makes Hannibal's breath catch. Will's nose touches his cheek, his lips part and nip at Hannibal's jaw, and he whines.

Hannibal smiles, and uses the hand on Will's neck to cup his jaw, turn him and allow them to kiss. Will's mouth is slack, his tongue heavy as Hannibal tastes him, tastes salt and port and Will's fevered sweetness. He claims Will's mouth, devours him, and rests his hand on Will's rushing pulse.

He has always known Will's neck is sensitive – there is a place, hidden behind the curl of his hair on the nape of his neck, that sends him to his knees when it's touched, when it's bitten. He can hardly imagine what Will might do if touched like this without warning.

He wants to find out.

He takes his hand from Will's neck and puts it in his hair, tugging him back when Hannibal kisses him again, and Will gasps, his eyes no longer blue at all, but shining, showing Hannibal his monster. What a beautiful creature Will is.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" he suggests. As curious as he is to see if he could drive Will to the point of rabid demand just by choking him, to _really_ tear him apart, Hannibal requires a bed. Requires the ropes they keep in their nightstand.

Will clears his throat, flushing, and nods. Hannibal stands, and Will scrambles to his feet, pressing himself eagerly to Hannibal's chest so Hannibal will kiss him again. They go like that, stumbling, entwined, and Hannibal puts his hand on Will's neck as they cross the threshold to their bedroom and squeezes until Will's knees give out.

He smiles, and leans down, and kisses Will's slack, gasping mouth. "Be still," he murmurs, and Will whines, clutching at him, pulling him closer. Hannibal growls, warning, and Will subsides with another quiet noise, swallowing harshly, and Hannibal feels the motion of his throat beneath his hand.

"Don't worry, darling," Hannibal says, and kisses him again. "I'll see you satisfied."


	28. Cockwarming

The chair is out again today, though Hannibal never actually made it to the part where he sits and waits for Will's orders. Will had come for him, as soon as he'd seen it, and commanded Hannibal strip where he stood. His clothes are beneath his knees, now, providing a cushion, Hannibal's hands resting gently on Will's knees for support and balance, and Will's cock is in his mouth.

He's under the dining room table, Will sitting mostly-clothed, just undressed enough for Hannibal to taste him, and has what Hannibal assumes is a pile of papers in front of him, being graded. Will's free hand is in Hannibal's hair, idly petting, thumb gentle on Hannibal's forehead and hairline, the rest of his palm resting over Hannibal's cheek, cupping his jaw. Occasionally, he presses, testing the fullness of his half-hard cock in Hannibal's mouth, testing the give of his cheek, the subtle pressure of his teeth. Hannibal's lips are sealed tight around him, not wanting to make a mess, and his jaw aches. He long ago stopped counting the minutes he has spent on his knees, simply letting Will use his mouth in this lazy objectification.

'Cockwarming', Will had called it. "Just kneel and rest until I'm ready to use you."

It's an interesting practice. Without the need to actively use his mouth, Hannibal's mind is free to wander, idle until his lover is finished. The idea of being passive and used in his own home, in this room in particular, is causing an odd mesh of emotions in his chest. Of course, he is eager to do whatever Will asks of him, and Will's hand on him is enjoyable, but the lack of action makes him feel impatient.

Will sighs, and Hannibal gently brushes his hands down Will's knees, over the outside of them, and back up again. He swallows back the latest pool of saliva and Will huffs, stomach tensing, and briefly tightens his fingers in Hannibal's hair.

"Behave," he warns.

Hannibal sighs, and lets Will's knees touch his shoulders, lets himself lean, and lets his neck go lax. It is, apparently, what Will was waiting for, as he sucks in a breath and wraps his hand around the back of Hannibal's neck, and rolls his hips very slowly, his cock twitching and growing a little fuller in Hannibal's mouth.

"If you could read some of the things they write about you," Will murmurs, and Hannibal perks up, attentive, for it's the most Will has said this entire evening. And he wasn't aware that Will had been lecturing and grading papers about the Ripper. "'The Ripper is an absolute pinnacle of control. Every piece of his kills is done with surgical precision. It speaks to an individual fundamentally unable to allow others to have influence over any part of his life'."

Will laughs, and Hannibal tilts his head, raising his eyes. They meet Will's, and find them bright with humor, matching his smile. "If they could see the Ripper now," he purrs. Hannibal huffs, fingers digging into Will's knees as Will rolls his hips again, pushes Hannibal's nose tight to his stomach, before letting him pull back as his cock swells to full hardness. Hannibal's mouth waters, his tongue running down the thick vein along the bottom, to the base. "I wonder what they'd write about me; the man the infamous Ripper strips and goes to his knees for."

It's rhetorical, of course, and Hannibal closes his eyes, understanding now; Will is incensed by what his students are writing, and needs to assert his control. Needs to remind himself that yes, Hannibal is dangerous, a killer; but his hands, and his heart, are at Will's mercy. They have been since the beginning.

Will growls, and uses his hand in Hannibal's hair to pull him back, to the head of his cock, and then forces him to sink down again, taking in everything. Hannibal's tender throat spasms, gagging reflexively, and he swallows past it, breathing in deeply through his nose when Will does it again, affording him air.

Will sets his pen down and cups Hannibal's face with his other hand, guiding him into a slow, lazy rhythm.

He growls, then, and pulls Hannibal off him. He pushes his chair back and guides Hannibal to his feet. "Read it," he demands, and turns Hannibal, forcing him to bend over the table, on his elbows. Will stands, behind him, the chair creaking along the floor as it's pushed back further. Hannibal sees a single paper below him, the rest a neat stack of completed essays thoroughly torn apart by Will's red pen.

Will pushes his head down, makes Hannibal look at the essay. Hannibal hears him spit, and shivers when he feels two of Will's slick fingers push deep inside of him, forceful and cavalier. Hannibal's body is adaptable at the best of times, and yields easily to him despite the lack of initial preparation and the sub-par lubricant. He knows if it gets too much, he can ask Will to stop.

The rules of the chair command his silence otherwise, so he reads, and growls quietly; _The Ripper is a psychopath, unable to form emotional bonds with people unless it suits._

Another finger, spreading him wide. Hannibal trembles, shifts his weight and spreads his legs in invitation.

_The Ripper is natural-born hunter, and it is suspected he stalks his victims for weeks or months before finally attacking._

Will pulls his fingers back, spits on his hand again. Hannibal moans when he feels Will's cock breach him, fast and harsh and wet with spit; his nails dig into Hannibal's hips, pulling him back just a little, until Will's knot of clothing brushes his thighs and Will is all the way inside. Blister-hot, Hannibal spasms, aching to draw Will in closer, aching to be used.

_Any person that the Ripper took an interest in would find themselves similarly dominated, and torn to pieces once the Ripper inevitably grew bored of them._

His fingers clench, knuckles whitening with anger, that this arrogant student would dare to know the inner workings of his mind; that they might look at someone like him, and his relationship with Will, and find it unequal, imbalanced. The words are elevating, painting him as some kind of monster with no capability to form partnerships. Incapable of showing affection, and love.

Will fucks him brutally, teeth at Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal moans again, bowing his head, as Will wraps a hand around his cock and lifts it to above the table, so that when he fucks forward, Hannibal's cockhead smears along the essay.

He stiffens, gives a soft sound of warning, a half-hearted protest.

"I can print another copy," Will says. He always knows, it seems, what Hannibal is thinking when they play this particular game. He strokes Hannibal tightly, punishing with his hand, with his hips, as he fucks Hannibal hard enough that the table creaks under their weight. His teeth drag, sink into Hannibal's shoulder when he bites down, and the sharp lash of pain makes Hannibal growl, clench up, his cock twitching and spurting another drip of precum onto the essay.

Will growls, digs his free hand into Hannibal's hip and pushes him forward. The paper crinkles beneath Will's knuckles, drags, dirtied. He shifts, fucks in, and Hannibal gasps, closing his eyes as Will finds his prostate and, hearing the sound, Will does it again, trying to hit that spot every time.

"Read it," he commands.

Hannibal opens his eyes, and obeys;

_The Ripper is a master._

Will's hand tightens.

_The Ripper has playthings, not friends. Not lovers._

Hannibal sags, rests his forehead to his fists, his spine rolling with pleasure as Will fucks him.

_The Ripper cannot love._

Hannibal comes with a snarl, spilling in a messy pool over the essay and Will's fingers. Will lets out a visceral, satisfied sound, and presses deep, like he was just waiting for Hannibal to finish. Will floods him, and it drips out around his cock, staining Hannibal's thighs. He shivers from the force of his orgasm, winces when Will lets go and instead grabs the essay, the paper crinkling and knotting in his hand as he uses it to wipe Hannibal's cock clean.

He lets it fall, and pulls out, his clean hand gently rubbing Hannibal's nail-marked hip. "Perfect," he breathes, and pulls Hannibal upright, turns him and kisses him roughly, with teeth, with invading tongue. Hannibal allows it, a soft sigh swallowed by Will as Will smears his dirty hand through Hannibal's hair, marking him and spreading his scent.

Will's eyes are dark with satisfaction as they pull apart, and he pulls his clothes upright, fastening his jeans with another huff. Hannibal stands, and waits, obedient as he must be until the chair is put away.

Will smiles at him, and Hannibal returns in, and leans in eagerly when Will kisses him again. Will nods to the ruined essay. "Throw that away and clean the table," he says, and Hannibal nods, eyeing the little streaks of come that didn't land on the paper. Will cups his face again and draws his eyes. His smile is softer, now, calmer. He kisses Hannibal more gently this time, and sighs when Hannibal eagerly returns it. "You can put the chair away when you're done, and join me in the study."

Hannibal smiles, and nods. He cups Will's face for one more kiss, and then lets Will go, and sets about his task.


	29. Knifeplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> knifeplay + cutting? scarring? idk.

"Shh, darling. I'm almost done."

Will whines, sodden with sweat, his chin tilted up and away as Hannibal lowers the knife to his ribs again. It is very sharp, there's no pain when it first cuts, but the burn of it after; the light dribble of hot blood on the open wound, stings sharply. Will fists his hand in his hair, tries to be calm, tries to steady his shaking hands but every instinct in him is screaming _danger, danger, there's a predator in your bed._

Hannibal leans down, kisses his rushing pulse, and Will's eyelids flutter, close, and he moans weakly, trembling when Hannibal's knife cuts into him one more time. Then, it moves away, and Hannibal wipes the knife clean on a knot of sheets and sets it to one side.

There is a bowl of warm water on the bedside table, and a cloth, and Hannibal takes the cloth, folds it, and wets it, dragging it with utmost gentleness over what he carved over Will's lowest rib, on his right side.

Will had told him he liked the marks Hannibal placed on him; liked the scars, the bruises, the bites. And he does; he adores the flare of pain when he moves his neck and Hannibal's bite tugs on his skin. He loves the aching soreness of his thighs, the way there is always a subtle pang of pain in his hips from Hannibal's nails. Loves the burn of claw marks in his back and chest, and the bruises Hannibal sucks to his thighs.

He supposes this was the next, natural escalation to that. Hannibal had not asked for it; Will had given him the knife, pressed it into Hannibal's hand, and whispered 'Do as you see fit'.

Hannibal finishes cleaning the wound, takes a pad of gauze and some tape and fixes the bandage over Will's ribs. Will sucks in a breath, turning his head to meet his lover's eyes, and finds Hannibal smiling, his eyes dark and reddened with pleasure.

"What did you carve?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will, cupping his face with red-stained fingers. He did not cut deep, and even now the pain is fading to a background throb.

"You'll see," he purrs, and Will huffs, rolling his eyes.

Later, after they eat and Will feels the first itching irritation of scabs forming, Hannibal takes him to the bathroom and stands Will in front of the mirror, shirt removed. He peels the bandage off, his nose at Will's neck, and Will leans forward, eager to see what Hannibal carved into him.

It is a single word, and Will tilts his head, not recognizing it. It is also, he notes, written backwards, so that in the mirror it reads correctly.

"…'Mylimasis'?" he whispers, stumbling over the foreign word.

Hannibal hums, and Will lifts his eyes to see his smile. "It means 'beloved'," he murmurs, and Will sucks in an unsteady breath as Hannibal's hands flatten on his sides. Will brushes his thumb, feather-light, along the base of the word. It follows the curve of his rib, arching up at the first 's', and while it's certainly not Hannibal's normal, artful calligraphic script, anyone familiar with his handwriting would recognize it instantly. "Such as you are, to me. Not something I claim, or own – the man I treasure, and love, above all else."

Will's eyes burn, and he swallows past the lump of emotion in his throat. He takes Hannibal's hand, raises it to his lips, and kisses his knuckles softly. Hannibal's smile widens, and he nuzzles at Will's neck, pressed flat to his back as Will trembles.

"I…" There aren't words. Hannibal did this – lay this mark, this reminder, and even did it so Will could see it every time he looked in the mirror. The cuts have light bruises already forming around their edges, and will certainly scar to something almost invisible, but there. For the rest of his life.

He turns, and kisses Hannibal deeply, letting Hannibal press him against the counter and hissing when Hannibal's clothes rub over his chest. "It's beautiful," he breathes, able to at least say that, and Hannibal's eyes are shining, bright with adoration. "I love it. I love _you_."

Hannibal smiles, wide. "And I love you, mylimasis," he replies, purring the word. Will shivers, and Hannibal cups his hands and pulls him out of the bathroom. "Let me show you just how much."


	30. Bondage

It takes hours.

Will is floating.

Lost, he cannot count the ticking of the clock, does not know how to bring his breaths past three in his head – one, two, start again. Suck in a breath. _Breathe_. Let your heart slow down. Everything is burning, feels seared like his skin has been touching a hot stove. A lattice of black and blue rope spans his entire body. Around his neck, Hannibal's favorite collar – the thin one, that bites and cuts when pulled. It sits above Will's Adam's apple and constricts in rhythm with his breaths.

One, two -.

Start again.

In this nothingness, he is without a tether, and his mind wanders freely. At first, it was anticipation; where would Hannibal's hands touch next, where would the next ropes be placed, when would they tighten? How could he move, and flex, to test their give? There is no give. Hannibal is persistent and commanding with what he makes Will's body do, how he contorts and the poses he must hold. He coaxes abused flesh, makes muscle malleable and eager to bend. Convinces Will's tendons and bones to ignore pain for the sake of his design.

He is bound. Ankles to wrists, folded in half. On his back, his thighs encased in a series of tight knots of rope that resemble a chain-linked fence, from ankle, over knee, binding his legs together in a forced crouch. His limbs prickle, blood fighting to rush and dissolve.

His feet are on the bed, thighs parted outward, as far as they can go, his wrists ties to ankles, then to the belt Hannibal wove around his hips, and around his waist, and around his elbows plastered to his ribs, framing the 'Mylimasis' carved there. Framing his stomach, his chest. Then, there is one thick knot tying Will's collar to his waist, and it runs down his back, so that Will cannot lift his head without being choked.

Will isn't blindfolded – he has to be able to see, if he needs to, like this. He's so exposed, he feels the air trying to cool him but it just makes everything burn hotter like air on a young flame. It highlights the strain of ropes around his heaving chest, makes him feel chafed and raw.

He opens his eyes as the bed dips, sees Hannibal crawling towards him to settle between his spread thighs. He swallows, tries to make a sound, but can't spare the breath. One, two -. Start again.

Hannibal's eyes are black, what little light that comes through their window paints him golden, shadowed. Like a monster. Like an emperor. Hannibal smiles at him, and leans down, and the press of his shoulders against Will's rope-bound shins makes him whimper, makes his hips ache. His fingers clench up tightly and he gasps as Hannibal nuzzles him, mouth parted, air damp and hot through Will's underwear.

In his hands is one last piece of rope. A bright, sky-blue. Will eyes it, half-wary, for he has no idea where it could possibly be placed. It's too thick to go around his cock, and Hannibal kept him clothed there for reasons Will didn't ask about.

Hannibal looks up, leans up, and meets Will's eyes. He cups Will's chin, eases him back, and smiles, kissing Will's exposed throat, below the collar. "One more, darling," he murmurs. Will swallows, and nods. "I need you to sit up for me."

Will lets out a soft, tired moan, but nods, and Hannibal slides back, carefully pushing Will's knees together and pulling him up by the ropes around his chest. Will sags, but cannot for long, as the collar tugs on his neck. Hannibal helps him get to his knees, and Will kneels ramrod straight, heaving for breath, trembling. The new pose makes his ankles flare with pain, his knees want to come together for balance but cannot with how he's bound, so he kneels, bent slightly back, blinking up at the ceiling.

Hannibal smiles at him, and cups Will's face. He kisses Will, very gently, and Will whines at the feeling of the soft rope that curls between Hannibal's fingers and his cheek.

Then, Hannibal circles him, and the bed dips behind Will and he sucks in a breath, trying to keep his balance. Hannibal's hands come into view, like blinkers on a horse, and Will huffs, grits his teeth, and then gasps as Hannibal folds the rope in half in front of him.

Hannibal's lips graze his ear and Will moans. "Open your mouth," he whispers, and Will obeys, and lets Hannibal feed the rope between his teeth until it settles at his molars, pulling the corners of his lips. They're dry, and it stings, as Hannibal threads the ends through the loop, then back, and fashions a knot at the base of Will's skull. The way Hannibal tugs on his head eases the pull of the collar and Will sags, trusting Hannibal to hold him up.

Hannibal lets out a soft, purring noise, pleased to the bone – Will can feel his pleasure, like a physical thing, turning his spine molten and making his stomach sink in. Hannibal kisses him, along his flushed neck, and pushes himself close to Will's back. His erection slides along the ropes, along Will's bared skin, and Hannibal growls.

"Beautiful," Hannibal whispers. One of his arms wraps around Will's chest, holding him upright and Will is off his knees, now, held up just by Hannibal and on his straining toes. Will growls, head lolling back, and swallows. "You are utterly glorious."

Will groans, turning his head so his cheek touches Hannibal's jaw, and Hannibal lets out a rough sound, rutting against Will again. His cock is leaking, dirtying Will's skin and the ropes, and Will's fingers flex. He wants to touch, wants to turn and let Hannibal use him, wants to rut together so that they both make a mess all over each other.

Hannibal snarls again, animal, inhuman, and then his hands knot in the makeshift muzzle and he pushes Will forward and Will falls to his knees, gasping, unable to catch his balance because of how his hands are bound, unable to bow his head because of the collar and Hannibal's hand, and he is just on his knees, his ankles pulled up by the tug on his wrists and it burns, it _burns_ , God it hurts, everything is numb and on fire all at once.

Hannibal pushes at him again, to his chest, so Will is mounted with his cheek and his knees on the bed and Hannibal tugging at his mouth, and he's not choking, thankfully, but he could. If Hannibal chose to, he could wrap his hand in the knot of rope running down Will's spine and pull until Will couldn't even get to one.

Hannibal cock ruts against Will's clothed ass and Will whimpers, clenching his eyes tightly shut, bites at the rope in his mouth and bucks and he hears Hannibal's laughter, feels his head and his weight on Will's back, and Hannibal is coaxing again, forcing Will to bear him, forcing Will's thighs to balance with so little and he aches, it _aches_ , one, two -. Start again.

" _Hannibal_ ," Will whimpers, though the word is muffled and beyond recognition. Hannibal stops tugging on the muzzle, plants his hands on either side of Will's face and mounts him, cock rutting between cotton and rope, his lips at Will's ear.

He bites down and Will hisses, tensing, and every piece of rope feels tighter for it.

Hannibal's jaws part, he kisses open-mouthed at Will's shoulder, drags one hand down to cover Will's heart, and holds him up, forces him tighter to Hannibal as Hannibal ruts against him, and it makes the ropes move, chafes and burns and Will is shuddering, trembling, and he closes his eyes and lets out a weak, wanton sound as Hannibal goes still, snarling, and bites down on Will's shoulder as he comes. Will's fingers tense up, twitch, as he feels it stain his underwear and soak into his skin. Hannibal continues to grind against him, marking him thoroughly and his damp skin feels cool, suddenly – mercifully so.

Hannibal tugs the knot of rope in his mouth free and Will spits it to the bed, working his jaw from side to side. Hannibal kisses his cheek, sighing, satisfied, and undoes the collar, releasing Will's neck.

 _Three_.

Will gasps, sucking in a breath, sobbing through the exhale. He aches, he burns, if he doesn't touch Hannibal soon he thinks he might die.

Hannibal releases his wrists, first. They were tied separately, attached after, and Will brings his wrists to the bed, rolls them and presses his hands flat, sagging with relief. Hannibal unties his ankles, next, allowing them to fall and Will finally breaks, tears of relief welling up behind his eyelids as his blood thrums to his extremities, spearing him, stabbing him with renewed sensation.

"Hannibal," he breathes again, and Hannibal pauses where he had been unravelling the thick knot of rope down Will's spine. "Please. Please, just -."

"I'm here, darling," Hannibal says. He helps Will upright, helps him turn, and Will shoves himself into Hannibal's lap, uncoordinated, unsteady. Hannibal's warmth is a tether, his strength a refuge. Will buries himself there, anchored, _finally_ , and presses his face to Hannibal's neck. Kisses his pulse and shakes as Hannibal pets a hand through his hair.

"I'm here," Hannibal whispers again, eagerly accommodating Will's need for touch. His hands spread out warm, petting everywhere – his hair, his nape, his trembling thighs. Will clings to him, though his elbows are still bound, and digs his nails into Hannibal's flanks. "I'm here."

Will breathes out. One, two, three – _God_ , okay, okay. Okay…

"Let me untie you," Hannibal whispers, low, soft. Moss on stone; strong, strong and vibrant and Will doesn't want to lift his head, doesn't want to open his eyes. He shakes his head, stubbornly.

But the ropes hurt and Hannibal's come is drying on his back, starting to itch. He shifts his weight, whining in protest; conflicted, confined, he needs to breathe and feels like if he parts from Hannibal's skin he won't be able to.

Hannibal wraps a hand through his hair, gently tugs him back, and lets their foreheads rest. Will opens his eyes, half-masted, exhausted, and he licks his lips as Hannibal's thumb brushes the corner of them, one chafing patch of dryness from the ropes. He touches Will's chin, his jaw, the faint pink marks of the collar.

"Let me untie you," Hannibal says again, sensing Will calming. "I will take care of you, darling, but you have to let me."

Will huffs, and manages a smile. Manages to lift his eyes and sees Hannibal's bright now, with humor. He leans in, and their kiss is chaste. He sighs.

"Okay," he whispers, and his voice is ragged, hoarse. Like he's been screaming for hours. He gentles his nails, and allows Hannibal to let go of him, and start on the ropes. "Okay."


	31. Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got so soffft omg  
> also yes I'm posting a day early but I started late and figured what the hell, I can finish early. I want a day of rest before nanowrimo starts :D

Their post-scene ritual can vary, but that is usually dependent on the location. When in the study, or the lower parts of the house, Will often finds himself wrapped up in a thick blanket with Hannibal's weight on top of him, on the couch – fire optional – while he steadies himself and calms from whatever it was they did. He feels the effects physically, in the need for touch, the need for weight and warmth to tether and ground him and recement him in the present, in the now – the now of Hannibal's steady breathing, his gently-pounding heart at Will's back, or under his cheek, or beneath his hand.

Hannibal's needs are emotional; he finds settlement in taking care of Will. In watching him return to himself, whole and alive and even if he is bruised, even if his eyes shine with tears, even if he has been so brutally used he can barely walk or speak, Hannibal knows his lover is responding to him, even mute, even in stillness. He listens to the trembling of Will's breath, the unsteady rush of his pulse. Breathes in his scent as it changes from sharp arousal or spiced pain to something satisfied.

When they are upstairs, the first order of business is usually a bath.

They are like that now; Will's back to Hannibal's chest, both of them cradled by warm, soapy water. Hannibal's bath is large by design, able to house them both comfortably.

Hannibal runs his hands down Will's arms, settles on his knees as Will sighs, head tipped back to rest on Hannibal's shoulder. The room is dark, lit only by a small collection of candles on the bathroom sink counter, far away from the threat of water. It is silent save for them and the gentle splash of water as Will shifts his weight, slides down a little lower in the tub until his hair tickles Hannibal's chin.

Hannibal smiles, and bends down to kiss his temple, purring with pleasure when Will lets out another satisfied, tired sound, and turns his head, turns his shoulders, so he's lying on his side mostly and can press his ear to Hannibal's chest.

His hand settles, under Hannibal's thigh, idly stroking the line of muscle, and Hannibal moves his arm to Will's back, doing the same. His other hand cups Will's face, idly dragging warm water up to his jaw and watching it trickle back down to join the rest of the pool.

Will tilts his head up, and smiles, and he's so beautiful, Hannibal can't resist cupping his face and pulling him up, letting Will turn fully, plastered full-weighted against him. He kisses Will, pleased when Will parts eagerly for him, smiling when Will lets out a weak, soft moan, and his hands fly to the edges of the tub. He moves, and pushes Hannibal's knees down so he can climb into his lap and settle there.

They pull apart and Will nuzzles Hannibal's cheek, kisses his jaw. Breathes out, shakily, and his hands find Hannibal's neck, cupping gently, thumbs at the corners of his smile.

Will sighs again, kisses him again, and pulls back so their eyes can meet. Will is normally quiet after a heavy scene – and the last one was very heavy. Will has bruises crisscrossed all over his body, and dark red marks around his neck from the collar, and welts on the inside of his thighs from Hannibal's teeth. Hannibal feels the burn of them against his hips, the tender swell of injured muscle.

He cannot help how his body reacts to Will – Will is a puppeteer, and can conjure reactions like pulling strings. Will shivers, rocking his hips as Hannibal's cock hardens, and Hannibal growls, lifting his chin as Will's fingers tighten on his neck. Watches, as Will's eyes widen, and flash, all-black, and he lifts his weight and moves closer, so that when he settles, Hannibal's cock slides between his legs and behind him.

"Will?" Hannibal breathes, hands on Will's thighs.

Will licks his lips, and nods. Hannibal wraps his fingers around his cock, other hand guiding Will to the right angle, and Will shivers as Hannibal pushes into him, where he's still fucked-open and wet. Will's head falls back, he gasps, and moans, his ass spasming tightly around Hannibal's cock. Hannibal used him well here, too, and he's sure Will is sore.

But he knows better than to ask Will if he is sure.

Will moans, jaw clenching, and drags his nails down Hannibal's chest. He starts to move – slow rocks of his hips that do little more than tease, but he's so warm and tight on the inside, a perfect fit. Hannibal touches Will's cock, finds him hardening as well, and eagerly strokes him, earning another chorus of sweet, needy whines drawn from Will's throat.

Will sags to him, lips at Hannibal's neck, his ear, his jaw. He kisses, and bites, and licks kitten-like, hands pressed on Hannibal's chest for balance, and he moves finely, gracefully, toes braced to give him leverage as he fucks into Hannibal's hand, forward, and then back onto his cock.

" _Hannibal_ ," he breathes, and he sounds drunk, so soft-spoken it's a whisper that shakes Hannibal to the core. He tightens his hand on Will's cock, thumbs over the head, and Will whines, tensing up around him. He drags his forehead to Hannibal's shoulder, growls, braces himself against the edges of the tub and trembles. "Yeah, just like that. That's – _fuck_."

Hannibal digs his heels, tries to work his hips up to fuck Will deeper as Will gasps, his shoulders rolling, the bruises on his neck standing out in a stark mottling of purple and yellow on his flushed skin. He lifts his head, nuzzles, kisses open-mouthed and lax, panting against Hannibal's lips.

His hands move to Hannibal's shoulders, nails digging in, then up to his neck again. It seems he can't decide where to touch. "Come in me," he demands, growls the words. Hannibal shivers, biting his lower lip as Will clenches down. Will's upper lip twitches, baring teeth. "That's it. C'mon. Show me how good I feel."

Hannibal is helpless. Will's voice reaches into him, takes a hold of his strings and _tugs_. Hannibal snarls, and knots his free hand in Will's hair, pulling him into a deep kiss as he goes still and empties himself into Will's body. Will groans against him, panting, one hand wraps around Hannibal's on his cock and he trembles, spilling thick and wet into Hannibal's hand as Hannibal strokes him through his orgasm.

He sighs, and smiles, lopsided and lax. He kisses Hannibal again and rises to his knees, and Hannibal huffs in soft protest when deprived of Will's heat. Will settles over him again, purring, and cups Hannibal's face with wet hands. Lifts up, to press his lips to Hannibal's forehead.

He sighs again and Hannibal embraces him, shifting so he's sitting more upright and can feel more of Will against him.

"What are you thinking about, darling?" he asks, absently brushing his fingers along the pink 'Mylimasis' staining Will's rib.

Will hums, and pulls back. Tilts his head and gives Hannibal a considering look.

He smiles.

"I was thinking," he begins, and curls his fingers under Hannibal's chin, tilting his head up. He licks his lower lip, bites it, and Hannibal's eyes fall to the action, only to rise again when Will taps on his chin, commanding his attention. "That I want you to marry me. But I figure you'd want to be the one to ask."

Hannibal's eyes widen, his hands tightening unconsciously around Will. It is not often he finds himself struck silent, but Will manages to do that to him most days, unintentionally or not.

Will's smile widens, and he taps Hannibal's chin again. "Well?" he asks, one eyebrow arched; challenging, self-assured. Hannibal so adores that look on Will.

He clears his throat, and smiles. "I was under the impression you wouldn't subscribe to the idea of marriage," he replies – an explanation, perhaps, for the thought has crossed his mind more than once. "Or a nuclear family."

Will huffs, rolling his eyes, but he's still smiling. "I subscribe to the idea of _you_ ," he replies, and leans in. Kisses Hannibal, feather-light. "Of calling you mine."

Hannibal smiles.

"Marry me," he says.

Will lets out a soft, joyful laugh, and kisses him again. "I thought you'd never ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my head these actually all take place within the same 'verse, that's why some chapters mention things that happen in other chapters. so a marriage proposal is totally the way to end it, right?
> 
> see you guys in the next fic! Thank you to everyone who gave encouragements and left kudos and comments. This was my first kinktober and it was a blast!


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